Nothing feels different, but everything feels different.
Chapter 2 is what I am calling this.
I sit across the breakfast table from my husband, but my personal laptop is in place of my work one. There still feels like there are a million things to do. But honestly, not a single one of them really needs to be done.
Was it always like this? Meaning, did anything really ever need to get done?
My heart is beating and I’m racing against the clock—stuff to do… I have to remind myself that there is nothing to actually really do. Today, there will be no sound of bings and chimes to notify me of new emails, Teams messages, or upcoming meetings.
Each of those bings is accompanied (was accompanied—gosh, this will take getting used to) by a spike in alertness and heart rate. At this time of the morning (6:15—YES, Six Flipping Fifteen), my heart rate and anxiety were probably elevated a handful of times.
Whoa, writing that out sounds so unhealthy.
It is unhealthy. But I’ve been doing this for years.
Even when I was physically going into the office, I’d wake up around 5 a.m., and just thinking about the day ahead would spike my anxiety. Sometimes in a productive way, but often in a storm of worry about how to plan the day to squeeze the most out of it—for both home and work.
The drive in would be filled with thoughts, worry, plans, more plans. And once I had two kids—then suddenly four—that planning hit a whole new level: kazillion mode.
Things have been quieter in recent years with the kids out of the house and me working remotely. But the anxious habit stuck around. And so did the bings, dings, and mounting pressure of the average workday.
Not that long ago in a land not faraway
I remember back in 2002, my boss gave me access to her email because she found it overwhelming—she got up to 50 emails a day. I was floored. Fifty! I was getting maybe 10, mostly forwarded from her.
Now that number sounds almost quaint. If you get only 50 work emails a day in this era, you’re lucky.
Managing email has become its own professional skill.
Most of it? Nonsense. But stressful nonetheless.
I felt like I had to walk into each day in full armor, machete in hand, clearing the overgrown weeds before they even had a chance to stop growing. 90% of emails went straight to Trash. Of those, maybe 10% were actually important—but wading through the digital clutter? A waste. So I created workarounds, tasks, and filters.
OK—seriously, I’ve digressed. But wow. It’s all so absurd.
Getting Anyone’s Attention
You can’t count on someone seeing your email. Depending on how someone organizes their inbox (and I’ve seen some truly wild systems), they may never even notice your message.
Urgent? Tag it with an @? Add the exclamation point? All overused. All part of the noise.
So we escalate:
Teams. Work phone. Personal phone. Desk phone.
And all of it—every single one of those tools—comes with a sound, a vibration, a ding that makes your chest tighten and your focus scatter.
But Now…
I closed the door. I shut the laptop.
I walked away.
That’s why I’m sitting here this morning, coffee in hand, at a different computer.
And now I ask myself:
How long will this feeling of impending doom last?
(Not actual doom, of course—nothing I ever did was life-or-death. But that tight-chested feeling… it’s real.)
How long until I can simply be present?
I Want to Be Present
I want to be present in my life. I only get one.
And I’ve spent 49 years rushing through it.
I’m safe now. I don’t need to stress myself out daily.
If I live to be 100, I’m only halfway through.
How lucky is that?
I feel so grateful. So blessed.
And I don’t want to recreate the stressful life I just stepped away from.
It’s funny—I only found out a week ago that yesterday would be my last day of work. I didn’t dare dream about what’s next, out of fear I’d jinx it.
And now? The urge to plan the “what’s next” is already kicking in. But…
I don’t have to figure that out right now, do I?
There’s no rush.
I have the rest of my life—whether that’s a few hours or another 50 years.
Peace,
Esterina
