I had a free weekend. A wonder. A rarity.
I'm trying to slowly mothball myself into end-of-year mode. I try, where possible, to take a decent amount of time off at the end of the year. It's an important reset point for me, a chance to shed the year, pick over the remains, learn from them, and look at the next one. I try to combine this, where possible, with not travelling too much. The home environment is important.
I'm finding it particularly difficult this year. I can reach a state of almost-relaxation that works a bit like the Uncanny Valley -- a sudden decline in quality, in contrast to the trend of the line, when approaching a particular magnitude. My brain kicks off, trying to hold on to everything, make sure it still works.
This, this is what I'm talking about:
Some weeks, I'll talk to you about schedules and work discipline and showing up and getting the words down and supporting that process. This week, I'm telling you that an essential part of the process is time to dream. Or even just to watch and listen and allow things to flow through your head. Put your notebook away so you don't feel any pressure to make marks in it. It's not about being productive. It's about going fallow-field for a bit. It's the equivalent of sitting on that rock and watching the river run. (Orbital Operations 6-Nov-22)
It doesn't help that my favoured forms of entertainment and relaxation (reading, games) intersect so absolutely with my actual work. The analytical mode ('how does this thing work') or weaponised curiosity ('how can I make use of this?') are extremely useful and have made me good at what I do, but damn they are hard things to turn off. Which can make leisure time fraught.
I see it as a kind of mini extinction burst -- a reactive, increased-intensity exhibiting of a behaviour after some success has been made in dampening it. I find it almost impossible to put away that notebook. This actually make sense when relaxation time feels properly scarce -- I will have to switch back into work mode sooner rather than later -- but it also reduces the value and impact of the actual leisure time. It can be exhausting. (I am exhausted.)
Part of it is a fear -- of having tools that fit so nicely in the hand, that I have spent so much time and energy amassing. The fear of setting down a tool and not being able to find it again, or forgetting how to use it.
I wrote this back in October:
I'm now sitting at my desk trying to brush the cobwebs off my brain. As much as I find it hard to switch into downtime and get my head out of work and routine and process, going back is hard, too (albeit less stressful than the threat of travel). There is comfort and power, for me, in routine and systems, and it eases the transition -- makes it more like picking up a favourite tool, the handle worn just into the right shape. It sits comfortably in the hand, but still feels a little heavier than you remember, and you worry, briefly, that you might have forgotten how to swing it. (You haven't.)
Time to start swinging.
I find this encouraging.