The Big Break

on quitting, pivoting, and the tyranny of the streak.

It started innocently enough.

It was March 19, 2020.

Four months after my now-husband and I moved in together.

One week after we’d been sent home from work, ostensibly for a few days, to stop the spread of the virus.

In the pre-COVID days, he spent half the month traveling for his job, which led me to think cohabitation would be an easy adjustment. The joke was on me.

Now, our merged lives unfolded in what was essentially a large, L-shaped room. Everything that happened within its walls felt inescapably mutual. Everything — conversations, typing, chewing — came with a built-in witness.

Such was the case with Teddy’s bedtime routine of doing the New York Times crossword puzzle. On this night, we discovered that two minds, with their slightly overlapping Venn diagram of knowledge, were better than one. “We’ll keep it up while we’re in lockdown,” we said, picturing a week, maybe two. You know the rest of the story.

As the days ticked on, so did the mutual crossword streak. It crept into double, then triple, digits. We felt smart, clever, committed. We had so little control over the world around us, but at least we had a handle on this.

By the time the world reopened, we were beholden to the streak. Could we stretch it to a year? (Yes.) Could we make it two? (We could.)

“We have to do the crossword!” became a nightly cry, delivered with varying levels of excitement, obligation, and — when it grew late and we suddenly remembered — panic.

Indeed, the streak grew to 1,577 — 4 years, 4 months, and 5 days of crosswords. It lasted until early last week, when one chaotic evening, we filled in the next day’s puzzle thinking it was the current one.

We discovered our error the following morning, but by then it was too late. The streak was no more.

*

At first, we felt sad. All those little boxes we’d filled with letters! The clues we’d puzzled over, the terrible puns that made me groan. All those nights I would’ve rather gone to sleep yet reported for word puzzle duty.

Our disappointment was short-lived, the loss quickly usurped by a sense of liberation. The tyranny of the streak was over. We were free from its spell.  

*

Perhaps it’s just the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon asserting itself, but since we dropped the ball on the crossword, streaks are suddenly everywhere.

My GPS watch insists on tracking my running streak, my hitting-my-step-count streak, my drinking-enough-water streak. A friend mentions their Duolingo streak. An app offers to track my meditation streak, which seems to fly in the face of mindfulness. As I type this, I’m shown an ad for something called “Streaks,” billed as “the to-do list that helps you form good habits.” It makes me want to take a nap.  

Consistency and sustainability are what I aspire to; they are not the same as perfection. Yet no matter what my rational brain tells me, no matter how I try to embrace the path of flexibility, the mere suggestion of a streak awakens some tiny, hungry demon inside me. It loves the sort of black-and-white, all-or-nothing thinking that casts the world in a series of extremes, particularly as it relates to my personal performance. 

While a streak can be a helpful motivational tool, it doesn’t quite mirror the cycles of living. Personhood is messy. Nuanced. As grey and vulnerable as a manatee. Life has a way of interrupting even the best streaks, like a tiny Godzilla crashing through the painstakingly arranged dominoes of your expectations.

Any way you slice it, breaks are nonnegotiable. Our cells repair, restore, and regrow while we sleep. Muscles develop on rest days following a workout. Viewed through this lens, chasing a streak not only gets in the way of much-needed pauses; it can actually undermine our growth.

Actual reenactment of a streak meeting life.

*

With many endeavors, there comes a time when we find ourselves asking:

Do we quit, pivot, or pause?

Sometimes, the best thing might be to walk away. Other times, we may need to change our approach. And sometimes, we simply need a rest in order to see things clearly.

If our foot is perpetually on the gas, it’s hard to take stock of where we are in this process — how we feel, how it’s going, what comes next.

No matter what we decide, it behooves us to remember: Just because a streak is broken doesn’t mean we are.

*

I was halfway through writing this essay when I realized that I am a hypocrite. There I was, on my high horse of anti-streakery, all the while ignoring the part where my proverbial check engine light has been blinking in my face. I’ve been grappling with burnout — creative, emotional, financial — yet keep plowing ahead because I’m scared of losing momentum.

But I think it’s time to break the streak.

I’ve had my share of bad bosses over the course of my twenty-year career. But do you know who is the worst one? Me.

She thinks everything could stand to be a little better. She’s always looking toward the next step. She has no boundaries between her work and her personal time. She really stresses me out.

And so, I sat down with my nightmare of a manager and outlined how our work, including this newsletter, might benefit from a break. A time to plan, reflect, and regroup. To create the space to write, without the pressure of a weekly deadline. To tee up some of those ideas we haven’t been able to execute.

The benefits were undeniable. She had no choice but to agree.

*

“Do you want to do the crossword?” Teddy asks, partly out of habit.

“Hell no!” comes my certain reply. Maybe tomorrow.

I spend my final minutes of consciousness reading a novel, its pages blissfully devoid of the blue light that harasses my retinas and haunts my dreams.

As I prepare to turn in, my watch informs me that I’m currently on a “sleep streak.”

Something tells me it’ll be short-lived. And that’s just fine by me.

---

Gnocchi, perpetually on break.

BRCP will be going on a mini-hiatus for the remainder of August — to regroup and reflect on the direction of this newsletter ahead of its three-year anniversary next month.

Paid subscribers will still receive the weekly card, along with personal updates and a few surprises.

While I’ll be taking a break from new essays, I’ll be sharing some old favorites (which will be new to many of you!) along with new work published elsewhere.

As always, thank you so much for being here. ❤️

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Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Tarot by Caro by Caro Clarke

This week’s card brings up some of the questions I’ve been pondering lately:

— How do we know whether it’s time to quit, pivot, or pause?

— How can we see our circumstances from a more objective angle, the way a friend might?

— How do we arrive at our personal definition of “enough” — separate from what society would have us believe?

The Seven of Pentacles knows that we’re trying. It sees how we’re showing up, including the ways we may not acknowledge ourselves. And it has some gentle suggestions:

Maybe you’re doing a good job.

Maybe it — whatever ‘it’ brings up for you — is already enough.

It’s an interesting word, enough. Like so many terms, it arrives without scientific precision nor mathematical certainty. How much is enough? That will depend on who you’re talking to.

The iconic Smith-Waite deck, with art by Pamela Colman Smith

Though the above card was illustrated over a century ago, this image bears an uncanny resemblance to someone who recently spent too much time scrolling.

Their beautiful garden — the literal fruits of their time, labor, and energy — suddenly seems lackluster. They may question their talents and abilities. They may wonder where they went wrong. They may want to give up.

Sometimes it can feel like we’re putting so much effort into something and not seeing the rewards. But what are “rewards,” anyway? Do they center on recognition? Growth? Compensation? Knowledge? Enjoyment?

…Or can they be more nuanced?

This week, the Seven of Pentacles invites us to refine our understanding of “enough.” What does it look like, how does it feel? How might we relax into our sense of it?

In what ways do we have enough?
Rumi once said: “Anything which is more than our necessity is poison.”

In which ways do we give/do/contribute enough?
In the words of Prentis Hemphill, “Boundaries are the distance at which I can love you and me simultaneously.”

In what ways are we already enough?
Trick question. You are always, inherently, enough.