Have you ever seen a pendulum “resting” at the zero position? Have you ever wondered if you’d even recognize it as a pendulum if it were not swinging frantically from one end to the other? Have you ever considered that even when that poor thing is just pausing at its equilibrium state, waiting to be launched into frenzy, we say it has zero potential?
Don’t worry, I’m not attempting to debate physics here. I’m just applying the pendulum metaphor to the human conditions of work, rest and play.
Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve been grappling with burnout, not understanding why my brain seems to have been stretched like a taut rubber band and nothing that I do seems to ease the tension. I’m not a teacher or a medical worker. I can’t pinpoint any significant changes to my workload that made me know exactly what happened that tipped me over the line from healthy to burned out. I couldn’t even define what I was feeling as the dreaded B word until someone listened to my symptoms and pointed it out.
All right, I told myself. I’m going to take a couple of sick days here, ease some commitments there. Watch a few movies, get some time in the nature, I’ll be good as new in a couple of days.
While I was “taking care” of myself in this way, I also immersed myself in literature and podcasts to teach myself how to deal with this thing. The authors of “Burnout: Solve your stress cycle”, Emily and Amelia Nagoski, have appeared on several great podcasts to explain the difference between stress and stressors, and how one doesn’t have to wait for the stressor to end before trying to relieve stress. They lifted the burden of “self-care” for curing burnout from the person experiencing it, and painted stress management as an ongoing communal responsibility. Maybe we need to abolish the word self-care and adopt a more sustainable approach that is called “us-care”?
I embraced the idea that the cure for burnout cannot be a warm bath with candles or a vacation on a beach. Planning a vacation, or stretching out on a beach does NOT make me relaxed. This realization helped me throw out of the window the idea that certain things are supposed to help me unwind, and that these things are supposed to be consumed like treats at regular intervals. Why should a person keep up the grind all through the year, and defer all of the relaxation and rejuvenation to a few days interspersed in between this time?
My therapist then said these words to me that startled me even more — “Rest and play are part of being a full human.”
Was I eroding away pieces of myself in order to satisfy the daily grind, resulting in a less-than-whole me? I started to think hard about my in-between time, the weekends and weeknights, my unstructured time as it were. Instead, I only saw myself forcing structure into even the time that’s supposed to be my own, scheduling reading time, exercise time, spend-time-with-my-loved-ones time, meal-prep time, violin-practice time. If I missed out on one or more — and it naturally happens — I’d invariably feel guilty for not paying enough loving attention to my interests. My books and my violin, hobbies that I adore for putting me in touch with my artistic side, would stare mournfully at me from their resting places, chiding me for ignoring them. My habit tracker app would beep, reminding me of all the good habits that I’d missed keeping up with that day. That Coursera course on psychology would send regular half-hearted emails urging me to meet deadlines. How had I managed to suck the joy out of the things that have often made me feel alive? Who was this productivity monster that I had spawned?
At the park, I watched a small boy, skipping along a path, looking buoyant and carefree as he did. His mother trudged behind him, seemingly carrying a heavy weight, though her arms were empty. I began noticing this pattern among most of the adults around. When did we stop skipping and what invisible loads did we procure over the years that made us walk around like stiff zombies that are just mildly interested in life?
In these crazy times, rest and play are undoubtedly a privilege. I’m not doing anyone any favors by relinquishing these cherished privileges. My short-term goals? Redefine what I think of as rest and play. Own them as my fundamental rights, rather than view them as things to be done on the way to stepping up my daily grind. Recognize my freedom to oscillate, as the Nagoski sisters put it, between work and rest and play. Rip up my mental calendar. Uninstall my habit tracker. Pay as much attention to the stress-levels in my body as I do to my to-do list. Allow, and celebrate, myself for being imperfect. And maybe, just maybe, find the small child in me that used to skip along, care-free.
And on that note, I’ll leave you with a little song that made me do a mental skip recently. Don’t forget to sing and dance along.
