Disconnect to Reconnect

This past weekend, Jim and I disappeared for a couple of days.

Not literally. We booked a hotel, packed the water bike and paddleboards and headed north in search of water. But there was no real agenda. No itinerary. No list of things we needed to see or accomplish while we were there.

And, perhaps most importantly, no laptops.

I turned off my work notifications for 48 hours. I removed myself from my lists, my obligations, and the constant awareness of what needed to happen next.

And then we played.

We spent Saturday morning at the lake. We came back to the hotel and took naps in the middle of a beautiful sunny afternoon. Guilt-free. We ate when we were hungry. Rested when we were tired. Went outside when we wanted to.

We didn't try to maximize the weekend. We simply enjoyed it.

And Sunday morning, rather than rushing to pack up and get home, we went back to the water and did it all over again.

There is something surprisingly powerful about doing something for no other reason than you love doing it. No productivity attached. No goal. No outcome to measure. Just the simple pleasure of doing something that fills you up.

I talk a lot about fulfillment, both in my writing and in the conversations I facilitate about leadership and workplace culture. Inevitably, those conversations wander into boundaries and self-care. I think that's because so many of us are carrying more than anyone else can see. Maybe we're not falling apart. Maybe nothing is dramatically wrong. We're just carrying a little stress here. A responsibility there. A person we're worried about. A deadline. A decision. A full calendar. A phone that never quite stops asking for our attention. One thing isn't necessarily too much. But it accumulates.

And sometimes we don't realize how much we're carrying until we finally put some of it down. That's what this weekend felt like.

For 48 hours, I put it down. Not forever. I didn't abandon my responsibilities or stop caring about the people and work that matter to me. I simply gave myself permission not to carry all of it every minute of every day.

I could feel the noise quiet down. There was room again. Room to play. Room to rest. Room to breathe. Room to notice the water and the sunshine and the person beside me instead of mentally racing ahead to whatever came next.

Maybe that's part of what boundaries are for. They're not walls we build because we don't care. They're places where we decide, I don't have to be available to everything all the time.

And sometimes that means saying no to something you would normally enjoy, or to people you genuinely care about, simply because you know you don't have anything left to give that day. That can be harder than turning off the work notifications. But protecting our energy sometimes means honoring our own limits, even when the thing we're saying no to is good.

Disconnecting isn't stepping away from what matters. Sometimes it's how we return able to give it our best.

And sometimes, we need to disconnect so we can connect.

The timing of this particular weekend wasn't lost on me. Monday morning, I came home and facilitated a presentation about building cultures where people thrive. We talked about what helps people feel safe, seen, fulfilled, and empowered. We talked about creating workplaces where people can do meaningful work without sacrificing themselves in the process.

And I was fully there for it. Present. Energized. Excited to have the conversation. Ready to listen, respond, and connect with the people in the room. The irony makes me smile. I was able to connect fully on a Monday morning because I had disconnected completely over the weekend.

For two days, I had allowed myself to do exactly what I spend so much time encouraging others to do. I played. I rested. I disconnected. I did things simply because they brought me joy. And then, I came back.

Maybe that's the reminder we need in a world that asks so much of us. We don't have to earn the afternoon nap or fill every empty space. We don't have to answer every notification the moment it arrives. And we don't have to wait until we're completely depleted before deciding we need a break.

Sometimes taking care of what matters means putting it down for a little while.

The work will still be there.

The people will still be there.

But when you return, you might be there, too.