In-Between
During the pandemic, the membrane between work and life became more permeable. Was that the reason for the exhaustion?
It’s 6pm.
I’m sitting at home, in my work station that resembles a cubicle. Facing a wall with just enough room for my desk to fit, the sun sets without my even seeing or realizing. I take a breath for what feels like the first time today. My fingers linger above my laptop cover, hesitating to close it. Is there more to do? Reflecting on the day, I play an endless loop of video calls in my mind.
In this new pandemic normal, the unconscious “in-between” moments have now disappeared for those of us working from home. No morning commute. No coffee breaks with colleagues. Not even the motion of travelling from one meeting room to another. The division between home and work has turned from a solid line to more of a permeable membrane, and our lives casually drift back and forth. Without these moments of pause, I always feel like I’m “on”—not able to stop, always eager to do something.
Yet I am not so certain that these feelings came from the pandemic. Even prior to the lockdowns, I found myself strapped for time: running from one event to the next (always late, never early) and ending the day exhausted. I lamented the busyness—but also felt like I needed it. Being in a city like Toronto, there is always so much to do, so much to see, and so much to experience. My mind races through my mental checklist of chores, emails, and unfinished TV shows. There is always something to do next.
Admittedly, my identity is heavily tied to this mentality of doing “enough.” To reflect on Matthew 11, where Jesus references taking on his light and easy yoke, I realize how often I yoke myself not to Jesus, but to things I just can’t keep up with. I realize how often I tie myself to the approval of others, to my career, to money. Never reaching these unrealistic expectations, I am left feeling inadequate, incompetent—a failure. Hence, I continue my Sisyphean effort and work harder, again and again. This is our city’s relentless pace.
As a Christian, I know this is not a race I am obliged to run. When I am yoked to Christ, I can stop (not just pause) and rest. This ability comes through knowing that it is not our effort or moral goodness that brings us to heaven, nor is it our mistakes or sin that keeps us out. Rather, we have freedom because of Christ. He has died on the cross and taken the punishment we deserved, and through his efforts (not our own) we have access to heaven. This is the truth that I want to yoke myself to, day after day.
Knowing this truth is the first step, but then how do we move past yoking ourselves to these other markers of our worth? For me, I have been trying to implement certain practices to fully stop and rest, practices that allow me to spend time with God and remind me of who and what I am yoked to. The first practice is observing Sabbath. I have been starting small and just doing Friday evenings and half a day on Saturdays. I intentionally use this time to worship or rest, not to run errands or enjoy a Netflix marathon. It’s a time away from distractions, from my phone, from my plans. I have been using the time to intentionally hear what God has been trying to tell me when I have been too busy to notice. This timing can be a few hours or the usual practice of a full day; what matters is just starting.
Another key practice has been simply to slow down. With the pandemic, one would assume that my schedule would be less busy, yet I still always find ways to fill every free moment. Seeing friends has been replaced with personal projects, media consumption, or virtual chats. This mentality—of trying to do everything at once—inhibits my ability to be present with God and others. God asks us to abide in him often and that doesn’t mean just checking off a box and moving on; it means staying present and intentional. Slowness is a habit of love, and when we cultivate this habit in our life with God, it enables us to see our neighbours and friends as more than obstacles to our to-do list.
This ties into my last practice of silence: for me, a few moments every morning before the hecticness of the day begins or a few small moments throughout the day. I still find this practice difficult as it is so easy to distract myself or to consume content. Yet this time reminds me of to whom my yoke is tied. “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble of heart; and you will find rest. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light,” (Matthew 11:25-30). Silence is one practice of being still and knowing that he is God.
It’s 6pm.
As I sit at my desk reflecting on the day and time itself, I realize that the moments that we felt that COVID took away were actually already gone. We had surrendered them to self-validating busyness. Yet, as I now prepare to step away, I leave knowing that my value isn’t yoked to my work, but rather through the work that was already done through Christ. I can rest, knowing and being assured of my worth.
I close my laptop and remember the rhythm of God’s work in creation: “And there was evening and there was morning.” Another day and another moment for rest.
Text: (Yick) Kan Cheung
Photography: Gable Mak