Last week I asked how your relationship to work might shift, if it wasn't so tied to the 40-hour measuring stick of your time.
The question sparked many a thoughtful response about the nature of "work," and how we might approach it a manner more reminiscent of "play."
And normally, that empowering narrative is what I would be writing about now -- because I believe strongly that blurring the line between work and play is one of the greatest gifts you can give yourself! And others, for all the productivity it unlocks!
... However, recent events have moved me instead to acknowledge that there is at least one supremely LOVELY thing about a 40-hour work week (besides the team aspect, and the steady pay and benefits, and the easeful taxes), which is that:
When the work week is over, you get to switch your work brain to OFF.
You get to have a weekend!
48 glorious hours of play and rest, in whatever shape that takes for you, unsullied by wondering whether you should maybe use the time to work?
Let's be real: when "work" and "play" start to resemble each other, the weekend no longer exists in quite the same way.
In fact, it can become rather difficult to switch your WORK/PLAY brain into NON-work/play mode.
So much so that when a golden opportunity pops up at 3pm on a Friday afternoon -- one that demands you forsake everything else and act right now -- you may just find yourself booking a 6am flight to Denver on United Airlines (which you promised yourself you'd NEVER do again, on account of United Airlines being the 7th Circle of Hell)...
... And watching that nice, spacious weekend you promised yourself fade... into a distant dream.
And you won't regret it for a second -- because it's work thatfeels like play!
... Only then, AFTER a very productive and fun and energizing "weekend," you'll return home late on Sunday evening, having had NO time to even think about the story you're now supposed to write...
... and you'll want to slap that cheeky Jessica of Friday afternoon, who failed so spectacularly to account for the human need to REST.
Which, as you may have guessed, is the situation in which I find myself at this very moment.
So, what's the moral of the story? I don't know -- you tell me! My brain seems to have reached its capacity for coherent thought.