After my initial rush of euphoria, I was ready to roll up my sleeves and get to working. Ultimately, I had the whole world in front of me, and a list of sabbatical goals to accomplish during a specific amount of time. Yet as much as I tried, I felt an immense blockage, as much as I pushed myself to sit at my favorite cafes to jot ramblings and thoughts into my Moleskins, to whip out the Google docs to continue working on projects I had started last year.
It felt like a quicksand of frustration was weighing me down, with something “invisible” dragging me down. Every step I tried to take just felt forced.
I slowly stumbled upon a realization worthy of Marie Kondo’s nod of approval: to make room for the new in my life, I had to evict some old, musty habits from the premises.
Until now, I had been trying to cram a new way of life into a system that I had grown so used to for so long – the daily fixed schedules, the traditional measures of productivity, the definition of success in the accomplishment of goals, the “who” I was working for. Almost like squeezing a swollen foot into that stubborn old shoe that didn’t really fit anymore. The discrepancy started to deafen me, leaving no room for the creativity I longed for.
An Old
Definition of
Productivity.
For the longest time, my productivity danced to the beat of external drums. It all started back in school, where teachers dictated the topics of our homework, and it continued through my stint at high-octane advertising agencies, where we raced against the clock to crack briefs and impress the higher-ups or clients. Success was measured by the stamp of approval on a project or the nod from those in charge – that was the holy grail of productivity.
Like Pavlov’s pups, I had trained myself to chase that dopamine hit after every presentation or green light, always hungry for the thrill of accomplishment. Work hours were neatly packaged with a clear endgame in sight.
Then came my sabbatical, a chance to sail uncharted waters without the usual deadlines and demands. My grand plan? To write a memoir chronicling my adventures as a woman navigating the world of advertising. Fueled by the frenetic pace of agency life, I set myself a daring goal: whip up the memoir in just two months. After all, in agency land, we’ve spun full-blown ad campaigns in a similar timeframe. But this self-imposed deadline turned out to be a boomerang, knocking me into a creative slump. Every hiccup, no matter how small, felt like a monumental failure.
With no dangling carrot to chase and no instant gratification of a job well done, I found myself adrift.
And thus, we arrive at our next topic.
Then, Who Am I Producing Things For?
In this brave new world without bosses and clients doling out the coveted “thumbs up” for progress, who takes the reins of productivity? Spoiler alert: it’s just little ol’ me.
Ah, the classic mantra “We are our own worst critics” has never hit closer to home. With the looming pressure of proving my worth to the universe, I set a bar so high, it practically had its own orbit.
I became so fixated on my daily “shortcomings” – like not wrapping up that daily chapter or falling short of my self-imposed goals – that I couldn’t enjoy the creative journey. And surprise, surprise, I wasn’t exactly thrilled with what I was churning out.
“You’re the boss now, baby. Isn’t that liberating?” I mused.
“Sure, but how do I stop being such a hardass to myself?” I retorted.
“Just take a chill pill. Breathe.”
And with that soul-soothing inhale, it hit me: there’s a whole lot of unlearning to do – starting with my customary time management tactics.
The Crutches
of Time
Management.
In the realm of routine, I was a well-oiled machine. Weekdays meant a strict 8:30 AM wake-up call, shuffling through the morning motions, and landing square in my office chair by 9:45 am sharp, and a dance with productivity until I hit my daily quota and punched out for the day. Life on autopilot.
Simple.
Now picture me attempting to break free from the cozy embrace of routine. From the snooze-button symphony to my ritualistic cappuccino pit stop at that quaint Italian joint near Zionskirchplatz (complete with a loyalty card worthy of a gold medal), I had to start dismantling the very scaffolding that held my daily life together.
So, I kicked off the year by trying to transplant this structured world into my newfound freedom. Spoiler alert: it was like teaching a cat how to bark – a conversation that just wasn’t clicking.
Yet, despite the initial chaos and insecurities, I started to find my groove. Bit by bit, I embraced the liberty of crafting my own schedule, as some modules started forming organically:
- Morning coffee strolls and chats with dear dad.
- Pottery classes on Thursdays and Fridays, my hands finding solace in the clay.
- Writing marathons in cozy cafes, letting the words flow like the coffee.
- Of course, there was the obligatory mother-daughter quality time.
- Evening rendezvous with spreadsheets, looking into exciting future plans.
- Weekend escapades reserved for catching up with old friends and classmates.
The beauty of it all? I had the power to mix and match, creating a kaleidoscope of days bursting with potential.
But perhaps the most remarkable transformation was in my mindset. I have given myself the time and space to enjoy and appreciate more, replacing the constant inward criticism towards myself with an outward openness towards life.
Celebrating
all Steps.
As I navigated this brave new world, shedding the skin of my old habits and routines, I couldn’t help but ponder the laundry list of goals I’d set for myself during this wild ride.
My book, that ambitious art exhibit, the plethora of content I dreamed of creating as I gallivanted across the globe – talk about aiming for the stars. These were lofty ambitions, demanding time and care to meet the sky-high standards I’d set.
Drawing from my adventures in the ad biz, I’d learned the hard lesson: don’t crack open the champagne until the campaign’s in the bag. Oh, the heartbreak of seeing hours of work dashed by budget cuts or some mysterious office politics. We were masters at holding off on celebrations until the ink was dry and the campaign was live. And that cautious mindset tagged along for my sabbatical journey. I was so fixated on those end goals, afraid to celebrate the small victories for fear of jinxing the whole darn thing.
But let’s face it, if I held out for those grand, final triumphs, I’d be waiting ’til kingdom come. No wonder I felt like I was spinning my wheels at the start. None of my efforts seemed to stack up to the grand vision in my head.
Then it hit me: I needed to break down those Everest-sized goals and find joy in every step of the climb. It was about believing that each baby step forward, no matter how minuscule, was progress.
Take those endless YouTube marathons, for instance. Sure, I’d written them off as pure procrastination, but in reality, I was soaking up inspiration from fellow creators, picking up on different video styles, and slowly molding my own.
And what about all those lazy afternoons spent tinkering with photo and video editing apps? Seemed like a waste of time, until I realized I was honing my skills, experimenting with cinematic techniques, and figuring out which tools clicked best for me.
Once I gave these “unproductive” pursuits the credit they deserved, something magical happened. Ideas simmered, concepts evolved, and everything started to fall into place in the most unexpected, beautiful ways.
So here’s to letting loose, embracing the journey, and letting the world be our playground. Who knows what wonders await when you give yourself the freedom to roam?
Goodbye
Expert, Hello Noob!
I’d been chasing that elusive title of Creative Director for what felt like eons. It was the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow, the holy grail of my professional existence. For a while, it became my whole identity, and I had grown used to the coziness that came with it.
I subconsciously reveled in that ego-stroking feeling of being the go-to person in my field each day at the office. Colleagues constantly came over asking for my expertise, and all I had to do was dig into the valuable toolbox of skills accumulated throughout all those years of experience. The comforting exhilaration of being able to solve other people’s problems was thinly veiled in a warm blanket of smugness – the reassuring blanket of having the answers to (almost) everything that came my way.
But what happens when you reach the mountaintop and realize there’s a whole galaxy beyond?
It’s time to bid adieu to that comfy, all-knowing aura – at least for a while. As I venture into uncharted territory and tackle fresh challenges, I’m reminded that there’s always something new to discover, always room to grow. Suddenly, I’m stumbling around like a wobbly-legged toddler, drooling and all – awkward, messy, but undeniably exhilarating. It’s time to swap out my cool, collected demeanor for wide-eyed wonder.
Stepping back from the grind has been a humbling experience – like hitting the reset button on my ego. Embracing the beginner’s mindset means diving headfirst into unfamiliar waters, relishing the thrill of learning something new. And let me tell you, there’s a certain magic in feeling like a novice again.
Unlearn
Reliance on a Support
System.
In the corporate wilds, we’re accustomed to having a safety net of colleagues, mentors, and resources to lean on. As I mentioned earlier, just as folks would flock to you for your expertise, you’d also tap into their know-how when needed. We form alliances, united in our quest to conquer projects and hopefully avoid any major meltdowns.
But a sabbatical? That’s a whole different ballgame. Suddenly, you’re venturing into uncharted territory all by your lonesome. No colleagues to shoot a quick Teams message to for help – it’s just you, your wits, and whatever gadgets you’ve got on hand.
Going solo has forced me to tap into my inner MacGyver, cobbling together solutions with whatever’s at hand. Turns out, you’re much more resilient than you give yourself credit for. New problems, new hacks – it’s like a DIY adventure every day.
Conclusion.
In the grand scheme of things, control is about as real as a unicorn riding a rainbow. Embracing the chaos and unpredictability of life? Now that’s where the real fun begins. Instead of trying to micromanage every aspect of my existence, I’ve decided to roll with the punches and trust that things will somehow fall into place.
Because let’s face it, sabbaticals aren’t just glorified vacations – they’re crash courses in unlearning, relearning, and rediscovering who the heck we really are. So here’s to diving headfirst into the abyss, shedding the dead weight, and embarking on the ultimate adventure of self-discovery.
Reply