Reflections from my sabbatical

Nature. Write. Play.

That was the intention I set when planning a three-month sabbatical. I wrote the intention as a mantra. A simple set of words that I could return to anytime I veered down the well-worn path of feeling that I needed to do and accomplish more. I won’t deny falling prey to the illusion that my worth is tied to my productivity. That’s the air so many of us breathe. My mantra kept me grounded. It kept me focused on the goal of not having other goals. It was a daily permission, that I whispered quietly to myself, to just be for a while.

It worked.

Many have asked what I did. What I learned about myself. How I might hold onto my mantra when the pressures of work mix back in with the grind of parenting and adulting. Even though I focused on writing daily, I struggle for the words that can capture both the enormity of this gift and the simplicity of its lessons. And to do so without sounding too obvious, cliché, or tone-deaf. I’ll try anyway, because one thing I learned from this practice was to just keep writing, no matter how hard or uncomfortable it might feel.

Critical to my intention was a commitment to “disconnect to reconnect”. I played with all sorts of disconnection. No work emails. No LinkedIn. No calls or texts with my team. No social media. No news alerts. While on a week-long writing and yoga retreat in Morocco, led by Jill Filipovic, I turned off my phone completely (except for a daily text home for safety assurances). I spent another week without reading any books or articles. Aside from the Olympics and DNC, I did not watch TV. By removing these things from my days, I created the space to see and feel and listen differently; to do so intentionally. I slowed down. I lifted my head up. I noticed things. I found my breath. I discovered which of these things were the noisiest, the most distracting, the least nurturing. Now back to “reality”, I’ve invited some of these ways of connecting back in, but certainly not all. I feel smarter, healthier, and all around better.

During my sabbatical, I wrote morning pages every day – a practice from Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way. I free-wrote every morning for twenty minutes, allowing whatever was in my head to spill out onto the page. Almost nothing creative or interesting is in those morning pages. They are supremely boring. That is the point. To clear all the boring, mundane, and angsty thoughts out of the way so that creativity and wellness can rise. In fact, I challenged myself to embrace boredom. Inspired by Manoush Zomorodi’s Bored and Brilliant, I made a point to walk in the woods without earbuds or destination. To spend an hour listening to classical music and doodling all over a page. To let my body tell me what I wanted to do each day, rather than telling my body what it should be doing. I wiped the word “should” from my vocabulary. When my body wanted to run, I ran. When it wanted to stretch, I stretched. When it wanted to rest, I took a nap. When I thought I should be thinking about work, my body cringed, my brain shut down. I discovered how wise my body is. How much better it knows me than my brain does. Now as I re-enter, I trust that my body can help guide my decisions. That when it cringes, I should ask more questions; when it softens, I know I’ve found answers.

I read voraciously during my time away and found myself drawn to the stories that women told, especially about themselves. I read Suleika Jaouad, Maggie Nelson, Roxane Gay, Patti Smith, Durreen Shahnaz, Nancy Pelosi, Jewel, Jennifer Palmieri, Rachel Cusk, R.F. Kuang, Elizabeth Gilbert, and Miranda July. I immersed myself in their bravery and vulnerability, and in the humility that it takes to write so authentically about one’s life. Then I wrote about my own. I wrote about childbirth, my adolescence, pregnancy, fertility, and how I fell in love. I started to find a new voice. Not the one I use on panels and on LinkedIn. Not the one that admonishes my children or questions my self-worth. A voice that is introspective, confident, and funny. One that I realize I should listen to more.

Since I spend most of my time in a city, this sabbatical was about embracing the vastness, quietude, and power of the outdoors. It was about taking as many opportunities as I could to hike, bike, run, swim, paddle, and float. To dive into oceans, dip in glacial lakes, and pick wildflowers, all while trying to avoid chance encounters with moose and bear. I got to spend time in some of the most gorgeous places – Morocco, Montana, Colorado, Cape Cod – and was also reminded of how much nature there is right around me at home. That even in a city, I can get lost in the trees. I can sit at the water’s edge. I can reclaim the stillness and the gratitude that daily stressors can so easily strip away.

I felt the physical shock of being back at work first. The rush of over-conditioned air when I came off the office elevators. The dulling of my senses from staring at a computer screen. The tightness in my jaw from the unconscious clenching that I do when thinking hard. My body missed the mountains and the corner seat in the library where I wrote and looked out at the river. My brain missed the ease it felt every morning when I remembered I had nowhere to be. My heart missed the way I could play with my kids without the pull of other pressures and accountabilities.

All at the same time, I am ready to be back. Not so much at work, but in the work. I’m ready to dive back into the movements for equity and justice. To dial into the calls for healthcare access, bodily autonomy, and women’s rights. To run teams, stretch leadership muscles, and use my voice to influence others to act. I’m excited to reconnect with my work community and am re-energized for what is to come.

Toward the end of the sabbatical, we took our kids on a whale watch. We were lucky that day and got to spend three hours watching nine whales frolic and play. There are so many fascinating facts about whales, my favorite being that they too experience menopause. Another I learned is that whales are voluntary breathers, meaning they must think about taking each breath. If they were to fall completely asleep, their brain would rest but they would drown because they wouldn’t remember to breathe. So, they adapt, using what’s called ‘unihemispheric sleep’. To be able to sleep, whales shut down half of their brain at a time. When I thought about a whale essentially splitting its brain in half, I recalled a moment that I had just before my sabbatical started. I was double booked with meetings that I felt too important to miss. Not that they were too important, but that I was. Our egos can be dangerous things. I set up two laptops, two meetings, and tried to listen into both simultaneously, making sure my presence was known, gaining absolutely nothing from either.

We are not whales. We cannot put one side of our brain to sleep, nor send two sides in different directions. We do not have to think about every breath we take. Though perhaps if we did, we might be more discerning about what expectations for ourselves we let in. We might make different choices for how we work and how we live. Until then, we must find our balance amidst the hustle. Create mantras that steady us and keep us anchored to what really matters. I know I will hold tight to mine. A simple but powerful reminder that often, just being, is enough.