This weekend I had my first proper return in some time to what has become an increasingly unfamiliar territory, aka home. No flights. No trains. No taxis. No commute to the office and meetings.
Psychologically I had been tracking the days in my blackberry, planning my lounging wardrobe for ‘working from home’ with more precision than I normally pre-plan packing of 10-day suit and heels ensembles, looking forward to a temporary routine of 9-5 home-office, evenings out and re-kindling the relationship with my settee.
When the long-awaited day arrived I got up promptly at 6am, sorted whites from colours and began the laundry cycle. I efficiently re-categorised the contents of my suitcase to their acutely colour co-ordinated hanging order in my wardrobe and generated a new dry clean bag to be deposited later that day (...2pm in blackberry - check).
By 8am I embarked on dialling duties, confirming the long list of consult catch-ups – doctor, dentist, optician, hairdresser, nails.
By 10am I had caught up with a backlog of bills and admin in order of overdue date, renewed my house insurance online before settling down to a well earned coffee to commence my first conference call of the day.
5pm home-office clock-out klaxon called time for an evening stroll, supermarket-sweep style, to replenish a rather rudimentary fridge, followed with expense claim processing and the straggler emails and calls with my US colleagues.
By the time bedtime was upon me I had succeeded in being as rested as Sherpa at the summit of Mount Everest and, as I stared at the ceiling with a case of impossible insomnia, I wondered….when was the last time I actually relaxed long enough to relax?
Day 2, perfectly planned to complete a second checklist of chores (the same-street doctor and dentist combo should never be missed in scheduling) interweaved around a calendar of calls and comms, I am beginning to ask has the timer for true time-out actually already timed- out or do the high demands of today’s diaries mean the death of a day doing nothing?
So, as my down-time rapidly becomes catch-up time and my photo album collects coveted memories of a visit to the bank and washing the car, I make a solemn promise to re-schedule the real essentials of life that should not require a reminder via a flashing light, and ask... are we really capable of the discipline of not-to-do? I guess only time, and timing, will tell....
‘Til next time, Pandora
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