Member-only story
Why I Plan To Work Less And Hobby More
Because when I don’t want to remember the conference call I had on my deathbed. I want to remember a life lived.
Years ago, I worked at a job that was slowly killing me. Months would go by before I saw daylight, or a slice of it through the window of a cab racing uptown for a client meeting. I’d be tapping on my phone, talking to my team, asking the driver if we could take Ninth Avenue instead — all while trying to feel the sun on my face. It had become normal to spend upwards of sixteen hours shackled to my desk, picking at take-out, shouting at my screen. Missing every minor victory and major moment in my loved one’s lives because I was on a conference call, in a meeting, or on a plane.
I once joked I wanted a pony because I was desperate for large stretches of land, paddocks, and quiet. A few months before I resigned, my boss rented a pony and our entire team crowded outside in the cold while I stood confused because this wasn’t what I had in mind. My want was trotted out for folly only to be taken away. I stood in silence riding the elevator back into the dark.
