I’ve been bothered by the squirrels and chipmunks in my yard for the past month. Not because they are there—I did, after all, buy a special seed mix and some dried seed corn for them—but because I always thought they hibernated all winter. Instead, they bound through the snow as though there are mere flakes on the ground rather than hard-packed snow-ice. It seems they are more active than I have been all month.
This past week has been like waking from a long winter nap. There’s always a moment when I feel a post-holiday letdown coming on, usually around Jan. 5, knowing the magic of the season is over. The magic looks like me letting people go in front of me in line at the grocery store because they have two fewer items than I do. The letdown is when I go back to feeling a little pushy and jerky and in a hurry, along with some other folks. (Not you, of course. You are kind and thoughtful. But other people.)
I have been home much of the past month on a winter break from teaching. But really, “break” is more like a code word for teachers that means, “Write and submit articles,” and, “Line edit someone else’s work,” and, “Make sure you get all of your dental and doctor appointments in before school starts again,” and, “Why wait until summer to reorganize your entire 16-week semester when you have three weeks now?”
There was a lot of professional work over break, but there was also some down time. I was able to try (and mostly succeed at) baking a new gluten-free bread recipe. I read books. Lots of books. So many books. And, like, books I’m not ashamed to say I read. Case in point: Anthony Doerr’s All the Light We Cannot See. (I know, you read it five years ago when everyone else did. I’m a little behind on my to-be-read pile.) I’m almost caught up on my New Yorker magazines from 2015. And I watched some superb sci-fi shows such as The Expanse and at least six episodes of The Twilight Zone. Please don’t tell me about Star Wars because I’m about to have my nerd card revoked for not seeing it yet.
Having down time can cause me some anxiety, though. I’m always asking myself if I’m using my time wisely, as in, “Shouldn’t I be doing something better/more productive/career-ish than this?” Which brings me back to the squirrels. (I know, I almost forgot about them too.)
Tree squirrels (like our local Abert’s) don’t hibernate in the winter or store food. Instead, they fill their little mouth pouches up as much as they can before they chase each other on our rooftops making us wonder, what is making all that noise up there? Squirrels don’t appear to be big planners, and yet they seem to be thriving in our yard.
I didn’t plan this break well, but maybe it worked to my advantage. Instead, I let myself do whatever I felt like. If I was stressed about buying the perfect socks for a friend, I went to find the best socks. If I wanted to stay in my pajamas all day and read, I did that. If I wanted a third cup of coffee, I made more. If I wanted another loaf of gluten-free bread, I made it. If, like a squirrel, I didn’t have all the ingredients for dinner, I made something up.
It’s a luxury to have this time off, and I know how privileged I am. But, as always happens, the more time off I have, the angrier I get thinking about time off. First, I start thinking selfishly of the many, many years I worked with only 10 or l1 days of vacation each year, and I was lucky to have those. Or places where I didn’t have more than three or four sick days, but could use my vacation days to recuperate from a bout of bronchitis. Then I start to research vacation time around the world.
The European Union is set at an average of 20 days as opposed to our average of 10 days. With all that extra time to think, we can joke that maybe that’s why the French strike so much—because they have time to consider the inequity, inefficiency and unfairness of each system they interact with daily. Can you image what would happen if everyone in the US had at least 20 vacation days every year? Perhaps someone would come up with a way to reinvent solar power, fix our national infrastructure or come up with a better way to structure the federal government.
But really, I’m here to remind you that squirrels don’t plan much, and they seem to do OK. Maybe I didn’t plan my time off very well, but I managed to have enough time to think, albiet not quite enough time to start any revolutions. Maybe during my summer break—but only after I finish writing and submitting some more articles.
The moral of the story that I will tell students this week when classes begin is this: No one plans well. Follow your weird ideas and do your research. You never know when you will have the opportunity to write a whole essay about a random set of factoids you wound up researching for two hours over break because you had a few minutes of down time to think and dream.
I’m off to get more nuts—I mean, snacks. Looking forward to seeing you in the year ahead.
