The Deep Inhale

It's Wednesday morning, and I find myself in an unusual position.

I'm taking more time off.

Not a day.

Not an afternoon.

The rest of the week.

This is not normal for me.

I am not particularly good at this.

Most of my time off comes in small doses.

A day here.

A long weekend there.

Then right back to work.

But this vacation has been different.

Productive.

Eventful.

Necessary.

We've finished rooms.

Recovered from sickness.

Spent time together as a family.

Worked through problems.

Built things.

Fixed things.

Talked through things.

And somewhere in the middle of it all, I realized I still need a little more space.

The truth is that I know what will be waiting when I get back.

Not specifically.

Intentionally not specifically.

I haven't checked email.

I haven't opened Teams.

I turned off notifications.

I even uninstalled Teams from my phone.

A first for me.

I have no idea what is waiting on the other side of this vacation.

And that's okay.

Leadership isn't about always being available.

It's about being ready when you're needed.

Right now, the best way I can prepare to lead next week is by taking these next two days.

Breathing.

Thinking.

Recovering.

Preparing.

Meanwhile, camp continues.

Zoey is still away assisting at sports camp.

We're getting texts.

Not many.

Far fewer than last year.

Every time my phone buzzes, I find myself hoping it's her.

I know she's safe.

I know she's having fun.

I know she's building memories.

But I also know she'll come home with stories.

And when she does, I'll sit there completely captivated, ready to hear every one of them.

David is thriving.

Baseball.

Friends.

Competition.

Sunshine.

He's exactly where he wants to be.

Jacob had a tougher day.

One of those growing-up moments that tends to arrive without warning.

Yesterday he told me that nobody liked him.

The words hit harder than he probably realized.

As we talked, the story unfolded.

A missed play during kickball.

Some frustrated teammates.

A little embarrassment.

A little disappointment.

A lot of personalization.

The reality is that Jacob has spent his entire life homeschooled.

He's had friends.

Teammates.

Church groups.

Activities.

But he's still learning some of the unwritten rules that come with larger groups of kids.

The rough edges.

The misunderstandings.

The moments where not everything goes perfectly.

By the time we got home, he was smiling again.

Back to himself.

Lesson learned.

Crisis averted.

At least for now.

While all of that was happening, my wife took Asher to our favorite bird park.

One of those places that has become part of our family's story.

Far enough away to feel like an adventure.

Close enough to feel familiar.

This was their first trip there with just the two of them.

From what I've been told, she spent most of the day trying to keep him from sprinting toward every photo spot he remembered.

He had a blast.

So did she.

Honestly, I think they both needed it.

Yesterday wasn't entirely vacation for me.

I finished the harder of my two classes.

The one I always seem to procrastinate on.

The stream test went well.

Bugs were found.

Bugs were fixed.

More bugs revealed themselves.

As is tradition.

I also started building out the kids' computer lab.

Most of the parts are here.

A few more arrive tomorrow.

Then comes the fun part.

Computers.

Accounts.

Permissions.

Security settings.

Minecraft.

Steam.

Possibly even World of Warcraft.

It's funny.

The hardware is easy.

The challenge is building a digital space that lets kids explore, learn, and have fun while still protecting them from the parts of the internet that aren't ready for them.

A modern parenting problem.

One I actually enjoy solving.

Today will be simpler.

The easier of my two classes.

Some stream work.

Some house work.

Letting my team know I'll be out for the remainder of the week.

Maybe another short stream.

Maybe the start of a new game now that Frostpunk 2 has reached its conclusion.

And somewhere in there, I need to begin preparing to return.

Not to work itself.

To the responsibility that comes with it.

The decisions.

The leadership.

The expectations.

The problems waiting to be solved.

I've spent years telling my staff that rest matters.

That recovery matters.

That burnout doesn't announce itself before it arrives.

Perhaps these extra two days are my opportunity to prove that I actually believe it.

There is a moment before every performance where the room grows quiet. The actor waits behind the curtain. The athlete stands at the edge of the field. The musician takes one final breath before the first note. Nothing is happening, and yet everything is about to happen. This week feels a little like that. Not an ending. Not a beginning. Just a deep inhale before stepping back onto the stage. Sometimes preparation doesn't look like action. Sometimes it looks like stillness.

Much love. Stay safe. Wash your damn hands. See you Friday.