This is the eleventh article following The Irony of Quitting My Job to Take a Sabbatical, the first in a series on what I learned and what I’d recommend from quitting my job to take a six-month sabbatical (without another job in sight). In my previous post, I shared several realizations about the value of quitting from the day I turned in my notice to when I walked out the office building, never to return. Here, I talk about my early sabbatical days and the real purpose of a sabbatical.
“Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass under trees on a summer’s day, listening to the murmur of the water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is by no means a waste of time.”
― John Lubbock
It was the first Monday after my last day of work. That Friday, my husband, cousin and I had gone out for a celebratory dinner and I tried my first (and likely, last) cigar. The cigar was a novelty act, more a symbol of the new chapter in my life than something I wanted to try out.
My cousin was staying with us during his internship, adding up to a household of three that summer. Every morning, he and my husband walked out the door for their jobs and left me to myself.
An introvert’s dream—or so I thought.
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