Not every long-term care job description comes with the opportunity, or curse, to work after hours. Harried nurses can’t exactly carry a resident home and finish the job on the weekend, for instance — though given their legendary level of dedication, many probably would if they could.
For others, the temptation to throw a computer in a bag at the end of the day can be much more seductive, especially when responsibilities aren’t time- and location-specific, and efforts are mostly expressed via an electronic device.
I’ve always been in the second category, notoriously unable to separate work from home. That’s probably why something felt weird one recent morning as I walked from car to office. My feet felt almost buoyant, like maybe I’d been cast in a remake of “Son of Flubber,” and my mood a little sharper and more positive.
Seconds later I understood why: I wasn’t carrying anything. No backpack. No laptop. Nothing. I wasn’t hauling them in, because for once in a long while, I hadn’t taken them home. I felt suddenly naked, like Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden, desperately trying to hide my shame from the God of Perpetual Productivity.
The truth is, I don’t always do actual work at home, but I’m usually prepared to. Closing my MacBook lid, rolling up the power cord and lugging it to the car is a daily ritual.
Yes, I know, our devices are cross-functional now, serving all facets of our existence. But I realized I’ve been carrying home a weight both literal and psychological. Work excellence requires uncontaminated rest, and the mere presence of job-related triggers erodes that critical boundary.
So that’s my new self-improvement goal: to dig a moat around my personal time, fill it with technology-averse piranha, and whenever possible leave work’s enabling accessories where they belong. At work
