Who Gets to Take Sabbaticals?
answer: privileged white ladies, mostly (but it should be everyone)
Hi friends. How are you this week? As you read this, I’m on day 2 of my indefinite creative sabbatical, and I’m as sick as I’ve been in years. It’s as though I’d been running on fumes to get over the finish line, and as soon as I slammed my work laptop shut for the last time, my body ground to a halt, understanding that it could finally afford to rest. The body always knows.
Illness notwithstanding, being on sabbatical feels both surreal and so, so right. I’ve been thinking about this quote by Buddhist nun Pema Chödrön:
To be fully alive, fully human, and completely awake is to be continually thrown out of the nest.
I have been thrown out of the proverbial nest. It’s a thrill, but I haven’t quite spread my wings and settled into my new normal yet. I think it will be awhile before that happens. While I have a work schedule all planned out (writing is now my job, not my hobby, and I want to treat it with the respect it deserves), I’m giving myself a week to recover, be a little lazy, fart around in the yard with Boo, and generally revel in my newfound freedom.
And yet, between us, I’m feeling a little guilty about having this freedom at all.