Some years, you ask for more. Some years, you don’t.

Lesson #25 of 40

As I approach 40, I’m embarking on a year-long project to reflect on the lessons I’ve learned in four decades of life. This is lesson #25. You can read the full series here.

Not a bad setup! (Getty Images)

I’m writing these words from bed, recovering from a stubborn illness that won’t go away. In addition to feeling run down, I’m frustrated: the week-long dose of antibiotics I was prescribed didn’t work as expected. After a promising few days on the upswing, I’m back here, in bed, starting another workweek feeling under the weather.

Late last week, as I began to feel better, I enthusiastically made up for lost time, throwing myself back into my typical routine. I woke up early and walked my daughter to school. I drafted new chapters for my in-progress novel. I answered work emails and mapped out my schedule for the remainder of the year. I went grocery shopping and addressed holiday cards. I exercised. I did multiple loads of laundry and tidied up the closet. I bought Christmas gifts. I had productive Zoom meetings and scheduled more. I made dinner and happily declared to Billy, “I’m back!”

Except, I wasn’t. A couple days later, I returned to bed, feeling worse than before.

This stretch of sickness has been humbling. I rarely work from bed. I rarely allow myself more than a day or two off. I rarely accept that I’m capable of less than I want to be capable of. And right now, I’m nowhere near as capable as I want to be.

I can get behind the idea of having an off day. We all have those. I sometimes bristle at the idea of an off week, but as someone sensitive to hormone changes and PMS, I begrudgingly accept those too. But two weeks? Maybe more? That feels absurd. Embarrassing. Unacceptable.

In 2015, I helped launch a leadership academy for women in journalism, a program that became wildly successful. This was firmly in the “girlboss” era, when encouraging women to be as ambitious as possible was all the rage. Women were coached to fight the patriarchy by working harder, leaning in, and chasing the C-suite.

I loved that program, but even then, I felt conflicted.

I pushed for sessions on burnout and work-life chemistry, wanting to remind participants that ambition and self-care could coexist. But the dominant message of the program was still clear: Work harder. Climb higher. Ask for more.

One of the sessions we included in that first leadership academy (and every academy since) was a presentation on negotiation. The speaker, Will, was one of two men on the agenda¹ and he was great. He is great. To this day, Will is a friend and we still work together on journalism training opportunities.

Since 2015, I’ve seen Will deliver that presentation multiple times. For the most part, the content has stayed the same — it’s solid, empowering advice. But a couple of years ago, based on his own experience, Will added a new slide. In a section titled “Things to Think About,” he introduced the concept of “Ask Years vs. Off Years.”

Some years, you ask for more. Some years, you don’t.

I’ve been thinking a lot about that framing, not just as it applies to negotiation but life. Next month, I’ll start my seventh year as a full-time freelancer. Deep down, I know I’m happier living a slower, more flexible, more creative life. But I still experience the occasional twinge of shame about the path I’ve taken. Old insecurities creep in — when I can’t afford some of the luxuries I once could or I run into someone from my past who asks, “And what are you doing now?”

Even now, years after stepping off the corporate ladder, I find myself wrestling with discomfort. I think that’s why having an off day or week is so challenging for me — I want to prove that, even in the nontraditional career path I’ve chosen, I’m still ambitious and successful.

But as I sit here in bed, I’m reminded of how messed up it is to prove worth through work. Yes, we have to work. But we have to rest too. And we are terrible at valuing that. We celebrate the years that ask for more — more work, more money, more accolades — but we rarely honor the years that ask for less. We dismiss off years (months, weeks) as unproductive and lazy. Something to be embarrassed about.

The truth is, they’re essential. Constantly asking for more isn’t sustainable or responsible. It’s the kind of mindset that not only hurts us but the world we live in.

Zora Neale Hurston wrote, “There are years that ask questions and years that answer.” Off years may not give us answers right away, but they certainly create the conditions we need to find them.

I don’t love being sick two weeks in a row, but if I had to choose a time to do it, early December is pretty ideal. Freelance work is slow right now (another fact about the life I’ve chosen that I’m trying to get comfortable with) and I have ample time to rest, go to the doctor, and, yes, write from bed.

I can take care of myself now so I’m (hopefully) in a better spot to thrive in January. To hit the ground running, just as society tells me to do.

I’m not entirely sure if 2024 was an “ask year” for me or not. I do know that it was a year when I asked a lot of questions. Can I approach this newsletter differently? Could I actually write a book? Can I build more meaningful connections with my community? Can I find ways to be kinder to myself?

Some answers have emerged, but not all. I’m hopeful that next year will give me even more clarity.

A lot of us are wondering what 2025 will bring. Will it be an ask year or an off year? Will it be as bad as people are saying, or are those fears overblown? Will it bring personal success or sorrow? Will it be a year of health or writing from bed?

I’m hoping, no matter what the year brings, we’ll be able to make space for both — the striving and the resting, the fighting and the healing, the asking and the receiving.

The answers we seek will come. But only if we make space for them.

xoxo
KHG

Speaking of 2025 ...

It’s back! For the third year in a row, I’m keeping weekly intentions and have created a document in case you’d also like to set intentions each week. This practice has fully transformed my approach to setting goals. Instead of big, ambitious, year-long resolutions, it’s a way to set smaller, more manageable intentions. It allows for flexibility — room for the write-from-bed weeks, for example — fun, and freedom. And, if you do the buddy version of weekly intentions, it provides a really lovely opportunity for built-in accountability and connection with someone you care about.

Here’s the link for the 2025 intentions document and the accountability buddy version. Just make a copy of your document of choice, and you can use it as a guide next year!

Last December, I made a reverse decision to make intentions documents free to everyone — in a post that’s now my second most-read of all time. Unfortunately, that did not prove to be the smartest financial decision. This year, reader revenue hasn’t been great. An off year, perhaps.

But I’m sticking to the decision I made. As this week’s lesson made clear, I know it’s not realistic to always ask for more. And that success isn’t solely defined by money earned.

That said, if you find the weekly intentions documents helpful, are eager to give it a try next year, or even just want to say thanks, I gladly welcome tips via Venmo (@Katie-Hawkins-Gaar) or PayPal. (Or you can always become a paid subscriber; among the perks are seasonal Zoom calls where we check in on intentions!)

Thanks for reading this far down. I will never, ever take your attention and time for granted. Here’s to a year that gives us all the answers we’re seeking. xo

1. It’s noteworthy that, at the time, we couldn’t find a woman working in media who felt qualified to speak authoritatively on the topic of negotiation.