My water heater’s pilot light likes to go out when it rains, and this summer has been rainier than most.
The first time I ever lit the pilot, I ran. I mean, I followed the directions—turn off the gas, wait 10 minutes, hold down the knob and press the igniter button until the light begins to blink, turn the knob—and then I ran. Water heaters make this whoosh noise when they fire up, and no one tells you that. Actually, no one tells you anything about water heaters ever. I wish I knew less.
But as I’m writing this, it’s storming again, and I’m doing what I’ve done every rainy summer day this year: thinking about my water heater, whether I’ll have to relight the pilot (probably), and if and when my plumber will finally call for a bigger and more costly fix.
Frankly, I’m stressed—and worn out. I usually love storms, but this water heater is killing the vibe. And honestly, the part of me that wants a break—the part that will have “she was brave and uniquely capable” written on her headstone—just wants to listen to the rain on the roof like I always have.
Water heater be damned.
Oddly enough, that tension between exhaustion and escapism is exactly what came to mind when I read our most recent poll results. Last week, we asked our audience how they would spend a sabbatical, a perk that has doubled in popularity since 2019 in response to the burnout crisis. The write-in responses are some of the most genuinely inspiring I’ve seen yet. Big dreams of travel, career changes, art, rest, and more are woven into the comments we received. We’ll publish those in the coming weeks.
But here’s the caveat: Many also include a fair amount of hedging. "I would do X if I had enough money” or “if I had enough time” or “if I had the resources.” It’s clear from reading the responses that responsibilities and constraints like finances and time don’t just impact our everyday lives, but also our what-ifs. Life is getting in the way of us enjoying living, even hypothetically.
So today, I want this newsletter to be an exercise in protecting daydreaming and peace. I’m not going to suggest we imagine a perfect sabbatical, because from what I’ve read, we’d all fill our time just fine. (Although to be clear, my sabbatical would have hot water.)
Instead, let’s list simple, good things we enjoy without letting the stress that makes them feel distant cloud our appreciation—or our aspirations. Our thunderstorms without the mentions of our water heaters.
I’ll start:
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Letting my dog sniff each candle in the house to decide which one to light
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The smell of fresh basil
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Leaving an event exactly when my gut says “go”
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Finishing a sewing project and texting a photo to my grandma, who sewed dresses (and matching doll dresses) for me when I was growing up
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When someone makes an obscure reference to a book or movie I love, and I realize for the first time that we’re kindred spirits
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Listening to a voice memo that loses the thread, but makes me feel like I’m there with the person who sent it
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The way arriving at any body of water feels like exhaling
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Exchanging eye contact and laughing with strangers
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Adding extra to things, like creamer in my coffee or highlighter on my cheeks, when I need the day to shine a bit brighter
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Slow Sunday mornings
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An outfit with a theme
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New Year’s Day
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Booking something fun in advance, so it feels like I’m looking after my future self
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The silence and rhythm of long road trips
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And of course… summer thunderstorms
What do you see in your list? In mine, I see things that ground me, like my home and people who feel like home, my routine and predictability, warmth from people and places all over. Quiet that feels like humming. Some whimsy, always some whimsy.
None of that is a sabbatical. It’s not even close. I know that. But it’s a far cry from lying in bed thinking about my water heater. Right now, that is something, and it’s real.
