Yesterday. I took a break.
On a typical workday, even from home, I am on a rigid schedule. I wake up at 5:10am. Workout. Meditate. Visualize. Write for a few minutes. Drink hot lemon water. Shower. I’m seated and working between 7:30am and 8am.
All of my day’s tasks are scheduled the night before. I power through my to-do list and calls. I check mail at 11am and 3pm. I eat lunch at my desk. I’ve grabbed 10 minute breaks for lunch for years.
But lately, I’ve been noticing something in the many articles on productivity hacks and ideas I consume:
Take breaks.
Not ‘unloading the dishwasher’ between phone call breaks. Not ‘stopping to email back’ breaks. Not ‘checking Instagram’ breaks.
Real. Honest. To. Goodness. Breaks.
So Sunday, I decided to do that. Sunday seemed to be the only day with the promise of sun Memorial Day weekend. Matt and I rented a car to drive to Mystic, Connecticut for the day. The quarantine has taken a toll on our relationship. We desperately needed this time to reconnect as a couple. I stuffed blueberries, pistachios, dates, a sheaf of paper, and a green pen into my nylon backpack. The planner in me had no agenda for the trip today. No schedule.
We drove for 2 hours on I-95, passing Stamford. Norwalk. Greenwich, the typical Connecticut towns. Several towns were home to working class folk, out on their front lawns, fixing cars and mowing their lawns. Some towns screamed of money, as white mega yachts, cabin cruisers, skiffs, and cuddies lined the docks. The shingle-style roofs, typical of Connecticut beach houses, beckoned from their pristine, landscaped lawns. 3,000 square feet. “Man, the home office I could put in that,” I thought. The sun finally peeked out as we passed Darien, Connecticut.
We stopped at “Grass and Bone” on Main Street to lunch on their famous rotisserie chicken. I know it was famous because the sign outside said so. We settled into their ‘outdoor dining,” high top tables in the parking lot, each placed 6 feet apart. Everyone had to wear masks from car to table. I had a white wine and a salad. “No feta please.” He had the house red with the chicken.
We made our away across the drawbridge in town. I stood on the bridge edge admired the hydraulics that made it go up and down. Folks walked out of the curio shops, bags in hand. The owners beamed, appreciative of the impulse purchase dollars. Matt bought ceramic dishes for eggs, made in Poland. Mariners had a free table, so we plopped down in chairs to have clam fritters and a margarita in the 4pm sun.
Yesterday, this persistent workaholic took a break. Yes, the trip brought us closer.
And this morning as ideas poured onto my notebook, “What I could talk about in my blog posts and newsletters. How I could productize my business. How I could build a marketplace. Speakers I should reach out to.”
I marveled at how much more productive I was.
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I head up a leadership platform for South Asian executive women and founders called LadyDrinks.
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