Do you know how to not work?
If you struggle with setting work aside, let Snowbird come into your heart.
During my growing-up years there was nothing more exciting that seeing this guy on the tv screen and hearing the happy little ditty that portended a day off from school.
Snowbird’s appearances were rare, because school systems were less concerned in those days about liability if teachers and students got stuck on the roads in bad weather. But if we were off from school, we were, well, off. There was no e-learning because there was not yet an “e.” (Hello, analog childhood!)
Since school started back for my son after the winter holidays, there have been three weather days. One was for the possibility of severe storms. The others were due to icy road conditions and extreme cold. To the school system’s credit, only the first was an e-learning day. It didn’t work well. Every student has a school-issued iPad, but there are security settings that limit the networks it can connect to (if you even have the benefit of wifi at home). If students could get on the internet, one of the apps wouldn’t let them access the assignments unless they had already completed other work, which many of them hadn’t. It was a lot of unnecessary stress.
I recognize that there is a danger of students falling behind if they miss a lot of the curriculum. (Also, it’s hard to have a kid off from school if the parent still needs to go to a job.) But there’s also danger inherent in never having a Snowbird day. Sometimes a kid just needs a break from the work and the worry that can accompany it.
This is not just true for kids, though. Many professionals had a hard time drawing boundaries between work and not-work before the pandemic. This was particularly true for clergy, who had many demands outside of the traditional work day and who constantly carried the mental load of leading a faith community and the emotional burden of knowing intimate details about parishioners’ lives. When Covid hit, the blurry lines were erased altogether. Work happened at home, at all hours. Many pastors became even more of the hub by which members stayed connected to the church. And each of those members’ challenges ramped up due to isolation and fear of the virus.
Pastors did amazing ministry at the height of the pandemic. But now, even as Covid is not so much a threat as it once was, it’s hard to re-draw the lines between work and not-work. As one minister recently explained it to me, “I don’t know how to not work.” Life is one perpetual e-learning day with no Snowbird-announced breaks.
This clergyperson is far from alone. And, while we need to be aware and responsive to our circumstances, we no longer have to operate like our physical survival or even our congregation’s survival (even for those churches that are at a crossroads) depends on our constant vigilance. This is a trauma response, not a way to thrive.
I urge you, then, to build in a bit of Snowbird joy. Make your own snow day no matter the weather, which is to say that you can slowly rebuild (or establish for the first time) some boundaries between work and not-work. Put your phone in another room for a few hours. Schedule an outing with loved ones so that there’s not a vacuum in your schedule that you’ll be tempted to fill with emails. Turn your laptop all the way off at a certain time of day. Read a trashy novel. Notice that none of these suggestions is big. Big is not the place to start, or you’ll quickly re-blur the line.
Remember that the sabbath was made for us, a gift of love and joy and rest. And claiming that gift is a “yes” to God and a refusal to participate in the productivity culture that grinds us all down.
May the messenger of God that is Snowbird visit your heart, mind, and body and offer you the break you need and deserve.