“Simplicity and repose are the qualities that measure the true value of any work of art.” -Frank Lloyd Wright
Because I grew up in the generally warm Bay Area, it was rarely necessary for us to turn on the central heat in our home. When we did, it was typically during this time of year, the cold and rainy holiday season when my brother and I were on vacation from school. While most of the vents in our home are on the ceiling, three special ones can be found on the floor in our family, living, and dining rooms. In those young childhood days, my brother and my favorite pastime was reading while sitting directly on top of the floor vents. I'm not lying when I say that our pants got so hot they literally could have been on fire. Not wanting to lose even a second of warmth, I would often eat and drink while glued to the wooden grate.
Fast forwarding to my more recent past, this time of year also reminds me of studying for final exams (nostalgia is not a word I would employ here). Our school gave us two or three "Dead Days" to study, during which no exams took place. I saw the days as 24 hours of study time, though I'm sure that our school intended for students to get some sleep and decompose a bit from the semester as well. In one of my best friends I also had a best study buddy. She and I would wake up at the crack of dawn and haul our books and laptops six blocks south to a cozy Starbucks. We set up shop and worked until closing, taking breaks only to purchase food and scarf it down. We felt guilty even thinking about longer breaks. These study days only made me more exhausted before my exams. Prematurely burnt out, you could say.
Recent psychological findings suggest, ironically, that I was studying for my psychology exams (and all other exams) exactly the wrong way. These findings show that by taking breaks and diverting our attention from newly obtained information, we can better digest and retain it.
Earlier this year, a manager and I spent some time having a discussion about my performance. "You're smart and passionate. That's going to get you far. But I'm worried," she admitted. Puzzled by the dichotomy of the sentence, I prompted her to continue. "I'm worried you're going to get burnt out. You need to learn how to balance your work and personal life, because you have a long career ahead of you. Take breaks, and say no when you need to." This was the first time in my entire life that someone, anyone, had told me to take a break or turn down opportunities. I wanted to ignore it. I told myself that I didn't want to accidentally miss out.
A few weeks ago, after a long day at work and a family emergency the previous evening, I found myself at my writer's MeetUp unable to write. I was engaged in an ever-frustrating pattern of type-type-type-delete-delete-delete. I had crafted an elaborate short story in my head, but was finding it impossible to translate thoughts into words. Two hours later, I packed up and went home with nothing but napkin doodles. I spent some time trying to distract myself by reading various short stories, but feeling guilty and frustrated the entire time. A few days later, I made my second attempt. Within 45 minutes, I had written a complete (and decent) draft. I later realized that the time away from writing had helped, and that reading the short stories had injected me with necessary inspiration.
This morning at my yoga class, my instructor took us through several intense standing poses. Towards the end of the class, she suggested, "If your legs are tired, rest them and stand on your head." I found it kind of humorous that a headstand was supposed to be "rest." It was in further thinking about her statement that I had a very important realization: Taking a break does not mean being lazy or wasting time. It's simply about directing your energy and mind somewhere else. We should not feel guilty about it.
While heaters are unlike humans in their inability to feel guilt, man can learn from machine in forcing himself to occasionally take a break to cool down. As we all enter some necessary vacation time, be it even a few days, force yourself to blow some (cold) steam. You owe it to yourself and to those around you. Because if you don't, there's no telling what you might do in the heat of a moment.
At some point after my bum was nice and toasty, the air would suddenly become cold, then stop blowing altogether. This moment to me was most disappointing. As I quickly learned, nobody had turned off the heater. Instead, it was a response mechanism that forced off the heater when the house had achieved the desired temperature. When the house had become too hot. Whenever my brother and I would give her trouble, my mom would compare herself to this response mechanism. "Humans are just like machines. If I become overworked I'll just shut down," she would say. I hated that the machines (and people) on which I relied needed breaks. I wanted them to be there for me always.
Fast forwarding to my more recent past, this time of year also reminds me of studying for final exams (nostalgia is not a word I would employ here). Our school gave us two or three "Dead Days" to study, during which no exams took place. I saw the days as 24 hours of study time, though I'm sure that our school intended for students to get some sleep and decompose a bit from the semester as well. In one of my best friends I also had a best study buddy. She and I would wake up at the crack of dawn and haul our books and laptops six blocks south to a cozy Starbucks. We set up shop and worked until closing, taking breaks only to purchase food and scarf it down. We felt guilty even thinking about longer breaks. These study days only made me more exhausted before my exams. Prematurely burnt out, you could say.
Recent psychological findings suggest, ironically, that I was studying for my psychology exams (and all other exams) exactly the wrong way. These findings show that by taking breaks and diverting our attention from newly obtained information, we can better digest and retain it.
Earlier this year, a manager and I spent some time having a discussion about my performance. "You're smart and passionate. That's going to get you far. But I'm worried," she admitted. Puzzled by the dichotomy of the sentence, I prompted her to continue. "I'm worried you're going to get burnt out. You need to learn how to balance your work and personal life, because you have a long career ahead of you. Take breaks, and say no when you need to." This was the first time in my entire life that someone, anyone, had told me to take a break or turn down opportunities. I wanted to ignore it. I told myself that I didn't want to accidentally miss out.
A few weeks ago, after a long day at work and a family emergency the previous evening, I found myself at my writer's MeetUp unable to write. I was engaged in an ever-frustrating pattern of type-type-type-delete-delete-delete. I had crafted an elaborate short story in my head, but was finding it impossible to translate thoughts into words. Two hours later, I packed up and went home with nothing but napkin doodles. I spent some time trying to distract myself by reading various short stories, but feeling guilty and frustrated the entire time. A few days later, I made my second attempt. Within 45 minutes, I had written a complete (and decent) draft. I later realized that the time away from writing had helped, and that reading the short stories had injected me with necessary inspiration.
This morning at my yoga class, my instructor took us through several intense standing poses. Towards the end of the class, she suggested, "If your legs are tired, rest them and stand on your head." I found it kind of humorous that a headstand was supposed to be "rest." It was in further thinking about her statement that I had a very important realization: Taking a break does not mean being lazy or wasting time. It's simply about directing your energy and mind somewhere else. We should not feel guilty about it.
While heaters are unlike humans in their inability to feel guilt, man can learn from machine in forcing himself to occasionally take a break to cool down. As we all enter some necessary vacation time, be it even a few days, force yourself to blow some (cold) steam. You owe it to yourself and to those around you. Because if you don't, there's no telling what you might do in the heat of a moment.
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