Work is not the most important thing

Lesson #12 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 #12. You can read the full series here.

Yesterday was my partner Billy’s birthday. It was the meet-and-greet day for our kiddo’s new preschool class — she returns to school today. And it was a Monday, the day I typically write and edit newsletter posts.

Yesterday was a classic case of something’s gotta give. I’d cleared most of my freelance responsibilities for the day, but this newsletter still loomed. Between birthday celebrations and back-to-school preparations, I’d had a busy weekend and didn’t have enough writing and thinking done to stick the landing of the lesson I’ve been mulling over. I knew I didn’t want to rush the topic I had in mind and also didn’t want to overcommit and try to juggle it all. (By this point, I know that’s a recipe for disaster.) 

So I reluctantly decided to let go of the self-imposed pressure of My Sweet Dumb Brain. I reminded myself that there are plenty more important things than crafting another email, like celebrating the fact that someone you love is another year older. Or being there as your child takes another big step out into the world. Or prioritizing your own well-being.

Work is not the most important thing. I need to tattoo this phrase somewhere on my body so I see it daily. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve written about workaholism in this newsletter — both my struggle with it and my struggle to overcome it. Like

jenn romolini

shared last week, just because I’m aware of the problem and have taken steps to remedy it doesn’t protect me from the risk of relapse. I’m not even sure it’s fair to call myself “recovered” from the addiction that is working too much. Work is my escape, my go-to, my way of proving that I am valuable in any given situation. I am trying to change this belief system, but it’s difficult. 

Of course, I do have to work. I have to earn money to pay bills and buy groceries and support my family. I’m lucky in that I enjoy most of the work I do — including writing this newsletter. But work is not the most important thing in my life, even if society tries to tell me otherwise. Even if I sometimes act like it is.

I could have worked through Billy’s birthday and my daughter’s return to school. I could have tried to steal minutes in the early mornings or evenings, time I would have been getting sleep. I could have kept one eye glued to my laptop as I unconvincingly tried to join in on everything else happening around me. If I did those things, this essay would have been longer. I would have written about my original topic idea. I’d find a couple thought-provoking quotes to share and come up with a decent ending. I would have found time to send and respond to a half-dozen emails and cross several tasks off my never-ending to-do list. I would have done what I often do. But I didn’t. 

I’m proud of that choice.

xoxo
KHG