Have you ever started writing something without knowing at all where it was going? That’s what this post is.
Today (Tuesday) was my first day back at work after a 5-day vacation to a family lakehouse. Five days doesn’t seem that long, especially over an extended weekend, but it was a strange return anyway.
I’ve found it more and more difficult to let go of work. Difficult is not the right word. I look forward to letting go of work things at the end of the day. But I feel more and more guilty about it. I don’t think anyone is placing that guilt upon me, except myself.
Our lakehouse vacation was supposed to be an escape from work, from our recent spate of home improvement projects, and from the occasional monotony of semi-quarantined life.
It was all of those things, for the most part. I just had one afternoon where I selfishly decided not to spend a lot of time with my son, and it’s been bugging me. I don’t think anyone else felt I was ignoring my family, but that’s how it felt to me.
All this is adding up to the notion that I am often too hard on myself, and I have trouble letting go of little things that have more to do with my perception of myself than with my interactions with other real people.
So I spent much of today (again, Tuesday) trying not to stress over things that are either done and in the past, or completely out of my control.
Fortunately, a few things made me feel better over the course of the day:
- a solid yoga session, which is really the only reason I can be productive for 8-10 hours a day
- reading and chatting with my son before his bedtime
- This song, by an incredible singer/songwriter from somewhere near DC:
I’m going to listen to this for the third or fourth time tonight and then go to bed.