I was observing a presentation skills workshop recently. It was aimed at a bunch of Alpha Male, hedge fund-type guys who wanted to improve their pitching skills. Attendance had been spotty; every hour or so, one of them disappeared to make a crucial phone call or broker a deal.
During one of the breaks, one of them raised his hand. “Couldn’t you deliver this on a weekend?” he asked. “I’m sure you’d get a better turnout.”
My first instinct would have been to say, “Sure! Let’s do that!” Instead, the guy running the workshop smiled politely and responded, “No, sorry. I don’t work on weekends. Weekends are for gardening and spending time with my family.”
I was floored.
Part of it is that I’ve been drawn to a series of careers over the years that don’t lend themselves to normal work weeks. My first job was in academia. When you’re a junior professor, you’re evaluated on how much you produce, not the quality of your teaching. So weekends are gold for advancing your research, free of the distraction of students and committee meetings.
My next career — journalism — wasn’t any better. When you’re writing on deadline, or producing a daily radio show (as I did for four years), you’re a slave to the clock. The entire concept of 9 to 5 disappears.
Now I’ve launched my own business. The first question a company who recently hired me as a consultant asked was “Do you work weekends? Because if you don’t, we can’t hire you.” My gardening colleague above has been doing this for a long time. It’s easy for him to turn down work. I’ve just started, so I’m not in that position. I said “sure” without blinking an eye.
There’s a societal component to this as well. Katrina Onstad wrote a book a few years ago called The Weekend Effect. She blames the loss of the weekend on two primary factors. First, the rise of competitive parenting makes parents to feel obligated to pack their kids’ weekends with soccer practice, chess tournaments and mandarin lessons. There’s also the pull of the constant, 24/7 technology era in which we live, which encourages us to remain permanently “switched on.”
In my own case, it’s far more personal. I struggle with slowing down. There is a fear of the abyss — of how to deal with the thoughts and fears that crop up when I don’t have 10,000 things to tick off my to-do list. Sundays are particularly bad, because vestiges of my childhood creep in to the poison the day.
Because I’ve conditioned myself to this expectation of working on weekends, I now feel guilty if I don’t do at least some work over the weekend. A therapist I saw 20 years ago once asked me why I found it so difficult to not work on weekends. I worked religiously on Sundays back then. So he was really asking me why I couldn’t at least take Saturdays off.
“It’s not that I can’t take a Saturday off,” I told him. “It’s that when I do it, I feel like some people do when they’ve consumed an entire box of chocolates.” It was simpler to just to work and not deal with the guilt trip.
I know this is all terribly unhealthy. I’ve read the research showing that when people are nudged to treat the weekend as a vacation, they return to work on Monday happier than those who crammed too much in. Nor does adopting this “vacation mindset” mean that you need to spend a lot of money or race off to the beach. It just means taking a mental break from work. Like my friend the gardener.
So here’s a new resolution. In a year when my mantra has been less is more, I’m going to try and gradually let go of feeling compelled to work on weekends.
After *this* Saturday, that is, when I’m scheduled to help facilitate an all-day workshop…