The Middle: Sabbatical

noun

( lowercase ) any extended period of leave from one's customary work, especially for rest, to acquire new skills or training, etc.

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In case this blog ever expands beyond my circle of cherished friends: I have a confession to make. I am a veterinarian.

There. I've said it. This secret I've learned to keep under the cover of darkness whilst in public places (especially on airplanes, oh yes).... Well, this column will make a lot more sense if you know that.

For one thing, being a veterinarian is a tough job. It's not quite the same level of challenge as those guys who disarm bombs in Afghanistan, but more than once I've found myself poised over a surgery patient, in a similar situation to Jeremy Renner in "The Hurt Locker":

In any case, it's hardly the walk in the park I actually worried it might be. (I say worried because I dreaded a boring career. Veterinary medicine has been many things thus far, but "boring" has never been one of them.) This poster is actually not too far afield:

What the poster fails to address, and what I actually find most exhausting about the job, is people. I talk a lot on my job. A lot. In exam rooms, on the phone, at the front counter. And that's just the clients. I also talk a lot to the staff. I discuss cases, treatment orders, surgical directives, handle phone messages, prescription refill requests.

And a lot of those conversations are emotionally charged. I am not uncommonly discussing a pet's continued illness or even impending death. It's a valuable and important responsibility, and one I don't take lightly. But it wears on me, sometimes, to walk out of one exam room where I'm comforting a family who's just euthanized their 20-year-old cat, right into the next room where I'm expected to (and would honestly like to) enjoy the excitement of a family with a new puppy. Sometimes, this is me at the end of my workday:

And so, here I am, sixteen years into my veterinary career, and I feel a little bit burned out:

So, one day at work earlier this year, when our clinic office manager was lamenting that a veterinary surgery specialist wanted to come up and work at our clinic but we didn't have the hours to offer her full-time work, it was as if a spirit inhabited my body, and I was surprised to hear myself say, "Maybe she could have my hours?"

"Are you serious?" he asked.

It was almost an out-of-body experience. Part of my brain was yelling, "Hey, wait a minute, shouldn't we talk about this?" Still, somewhat befuddled, I replied, "I think so, maybe, yes." I half-expected to turn around and see Hermione Granger pointing her wand at me, casting a Confundus charm. But another part of me was thinking, No, this is good.

And before I could really think too much about the implications (financial impact, status impact [would I perceived as weak if I took a little time off?], marriage impact [how would that work if only one of us was working?], etc.), I was approved for a leave of absence. With my long academic history, it quickly became, to me, a "sabbatical." You can call it a leave of absence if you'd rather; I suppose "sabbatical" is somewhat pretentious, but you know what they say, "You can take the girl out of the liberal arts college, but..."

So for ten glorious weeks, I will not be working. Admittedly, some of that time was already planned out, the first week as jury duty, the last four as a trip overseas. But in between, well, that is what I am most eagerly anticipating.

As I shoveled my lunch into my mouth at work yesterday, running around the clinic giving treatment orders and answering phone questions the whole time, never sitting down once, I thought, "Well, I won't miss this." Actually sitting down and eating my lunch... What a concept.

I will also not miss these things:

My thermos. Mandatory green tea infusion every morning. Sometimes the only thing I drink for 12 hours.

My Danskos. Great support but I roll my ankle off the heel at least once a week. Black color doesn't show blood (or "other") stains.

Breakfast Cookies. My "breakfast" every day at work because: 1) I can eat it with my fingers, and 2) I can eat it over the course of several hours without it spoiling.

Of course, there are things I will miss. I mean, just look at this little guy, named "Rocky," of course:

And the unintentional humor in some people's choices of pets' names and their consequences:

Needless to say, a lot of people want to know what I'm going to do on my sabbatical. To be honest, I'm wondering that myself. I've ranged everywhere from a strict schedule of yoga every day + running + swimming + reading Shakespeare + learning Turkish (have I mentioned we're going to Turkey?) + hosting a dinner party once a week.... It's exhausting just reading that list!

Then I thought, "Well, I just shouldn't do anything." But that's not really me.

As my father (and, before him, some guy named Confucius) used to say, "Moderation in all things." So I'll probably make a short list of achievable goals, then leave the rest of the time free.

I am looking forward to more time with these things:

And doing this:

And hangin' out up here:

And spending time with this guy:

In the end, I think my ultimate goal is to find a way not to be annoyed by wrong-number phone calls. That's a bit metaphorical, but you catch my drift. These days, little annoyances can drive me batshit crazy. I mean, even in my own mind I take a step back from myself and think, "Oh, no, dearie -- that reaction is a little over the top." I haven't yet decided what that path to Zen looks like, but that's part of the fun, right? The journey?

(I thought about meditation, but I joined an online meditation program and I have completed exactly three 10-minute sessions in the past six weeks. AND I feel stressed and guilty about it. Not a promising start.)

So while I struggle with enviably uncomfortable feelings of disorientation and quandary of how best to spend (binge? or invest??) my sabbatical hours, I very eagerly anticipate switching out this calendar: