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It was 11:42; three espressos down, and barely a third of the way to inbox-zero, and the fucking screen glitches out.
Followed quickly by the rest of my peripheral vision.
—
This wasn't how I'd imagined my return to work after a brief ‘self-prescribed’ mental break on the couch with the curtains drawn.
But then again, nothing about this journey has been what I expected.
You see, I'm not just talking about a long weekend 50-miles closer to heaven than where you live, or a ‘fancy’ two-week Euro-trip bouncing between pizzerias and prett patisseries. I'm talking a prolonged-retreat-from-my-own-damn-life.
Arghh.. ‘The Sabbatical’
Reckless professional suicide or a deliberate, sightly delusional, act of courage?
Inception Point
Let's rewind a bit.
Picture this: you're consulting (or whatever you call it), juggling multiple clients, burning the candle at both ends with 3 side projects on the boil, and 5 more languishing in the ‘Emotional Archive'.
Sound familiar?
That was me, convinced that success was directly proportional to the length of my to-do list, multiplied by the double-digit hours of daily screen time.
…until it wasn't.
The anxiety, the exhaustion, the persistent pain in the back of the neck, and the weirdly noticeable muscle wastage —yep, sitting is killing you, even with Herman’s beautiful pedestal in place.
Not to mention the long faded sense of purpose and general lack enthusiasm between seven and eleven.
This thing wasn't just about to attack.
It had already devoured me, long before I’d even realized what was happening.
That screen glitch? It wasn't just technology failing me.
It was my body… and my brain, screaming for something more than a habit-stacking 'Mindful Minute'. A longer period of deep rest that I had been stubbornly ignoring for months… possibly years.
The Metamorphosis of Space
I had to do something radical.
So, I stepped away. Not for a day, or a week, but for an entire year.
'I'm taking a Sabbatical.'
There, I said it. —mainly to hear the words for my-self.
Yet the phrase felt foreign on my tongue (like-a sort of dyslexic-synesthesia) and provided little evidence as to what it might actually entail beyond the fear of descending head-first into the dregs of my Netflix 'What to Watch' queue.
Who was I to take a sabbatical?
I wasn't an academic slinking off into the research phase of an already overdue second PhD or a high-powered executive retreating from the C-suite for a year with the family in the South of France.
I was just... 'working remote' —As I had done for almost 20 years.
—
But here's what I discovered: The space I created wasn't empty. It was fertile ground for transformation.
Yet, in the first few weeks, I felt lost. Scratch that, I was genuinely DEVASTATED. No deadlines, no Zoom calls, no constantly checking email (that one’s almost harder than giving up nicotine, I swear).
Cliche, but… the silence was DEAFENING.
Then slowly, almost imperceptibly, something started to shift. I found myself drawn to music - at first, listening, like... really listening, but then the uncontrollable urge to create.
As a kid, some social-genius of a music teacher had bestowed their infinite wisdom upon me by patting me on the head and mumbling, 'Maybe we don’t play the triangle, ‘ey boy.'
At that time, my overly sensitive subconscious internalized this incorrectly, as for nearly forty years I had been convinced that I was 'musically retarded'.
But here we were, healing and it became MY therapy.
I found my fingers, more familiar with a different set of keys, now fumbling across a piano. I was terrible, but it didn't matter. For once, I wasn't doing something for someone else or trying to ‘help out’, or over commit my Type-A ass off more than I physically and mentally should have.
I was doing it simply because it made me fucking happy.
It was novel and challenging.
It was the high my intellectually famished, detox-clucking brain needed.
Human 'be-ing'
As the months passed, I realized something. This sabbatical wasn't about what I was doing. It was about who I was becoming.
I was becoming someone who could sit in silence without reaching for a device. Someone who could enjoy a sunset without worrying about all those deliverables. Someone who might be on the cusp of measuring the value of a day not by the tasks left uncompleted, but by moments I actually felt connected to myself and the world around me once again.
The real transformation?
This was in my relationship with work itself. Stop me if this is painful, but I’d always defined myself by what I did. Now, I was learning to define myself by who I really was.
A New North Star
As my sabbatical nears its end, I find myself reciting a rhetorical question I wrote for myself nearly three years ago that's been glued to the top of my, unashamedly chaotic, Notion homepage for the past 9 months:
"How to build a body of work, instead of a body that works?"
It's not about abandoning ambition or productivity. It's about redefining them. It's about creating work that stems from a place of wholeness rather than half-emptiness, of inspiration rather than requirement.
I don't have all the answers yet. But I do know this: The burden of burnout is always lurking. Only now, instead of running myself ragged trying to outpace it, I've learned to pause, (thanks Jonny). To breathe properly, yeah, you might be doing it wrong as well. And to remember that sometimes, the most productive thing I can do is... nothing at all.
—
Remember that screen glitch? I thought I needed a break. I ended up in a breakdown. But with the help of a few decent human beings and a little intention, what I finally got was a breakthrough.
Hindsight's a MF, it wasn't a glitch at all.
It was an invitation.
Takeaway
Sorry, there's no '5 point actionable takeaway' strewn with emotionally supportive emojis here.
My only recommendation;
If you haven't already today, 'Take one proper fucking break for yourself. I mean more than eating lunch in front of your laptop again or catching up on social while you take a piss.' (Admit it)
And after that?
It doesn't have to be a year-long. Start with anything, a day, a week, whatever you can safely claw back from the economic pallbearers of your financial security —to feel human again, if only for a few hours.
Just make it intentional. Make it memorable. Make it count.
Because in the space between the notes, that's where the music comes to life.
That's where you get to do more than just recharge, you get to redefine what life sounds like.
And who knows?
You might just reconnect with who you thought you could be in there.