Assessing the Urgency Factor

Sometimes, we just need a “time out”—a break from our obligations, schedules, and to-do lists. It’s nice when we can plan them (a vacation), as opposed to having them descend upon us (an unexpected illness). I’ve had both within the last month: first, a week in Florida to visit my daughter, and, second, a short, strange bout with pneumonia. As time outs go, the pneumonia was more effective.

When I travel, I take my life with me, i.e., laptop computer, files, access to e-mail, cell phone, and anything else that seems likely to be needed. When I get where I’m going, I set up shop in a little corner somewhere and work, work, work. In between, I read, read, read. I love what I’m doing but can hardly consider this a break in the action. It’s just a change of environment.

Pneumonia, on the other hand, even though it wasn’t serious or life threatening, stopped me cold. I abandoned my office as if it were in another location (It’s actually next to my bedroom). I didn’t check e-mail. I didn’t call people or go through my inbox. I didn’t sort mail. I didn’t write. I just dropped out for a week. And what is really strange is that I didn’t feel one minute of guilt.

When I finally felt better, I put on real clothes and went back to work. Something had changed, though. I felt strangely refreshed, though still a bit droopy, and I had a new perspective on the urgency factor. Though much awaited my attention, it wasn’t all equally critical; some of it could wait; and some of it didn’t need to be done at all. Life had not stopped while I did. It just kept on flowing, as it always does.

Like a child slipping into a moving jump rope, when I was ready, I easily jumped back into my world.

All Work and No Play

I'm reading a book called Play by Stuart Brown, MD. I started reading it for a project I'm working on and became intrigued, then fascinated, then stunned. I never realized how important play is one's health and vitality.

Consider this observation: "When we stop playing, we stop developing, and when that happens, the laws of entropy take over—things fall apart. Ultimately, we share the fate of the sea squirt and become vegetative, staying in one spot, not fulling interacting with the world, more plant than animal. When we stop playing, we start dying."

That is one sobering thought for a workaholic.