The End is Near. Do We Just Keep Working?
We need 4-day workweeks now more than ever
Time is my most precious resource. I am stingy with it. I’ll loan a friend money without a second thought, but if she wants my time, she better have a damn good reason.
In my 20s, despite the harried work schedule I took on to prove to the world that I had ambition, I still managed to snag some free time here and there. I exercised and went out to brunch; I also volunteered as a bilingual liaison for an immigrant rights group, wrote a novel, and talked to my neighbors.
Then I had kids.
Suddenly, I found, there wasn’t even so much as a minute of the day that belonged to me. Even when I managed to carve out 30 minutes to go running, I did it with a stroller in tow. Every morning, the alarm ripped me from a sleep that had already been interrupted multiple times throughout the course of the night. Every day, I got up, exercised, got my kids ready, took them to school/daycare, commuted downtown, worked the minimum viable 8.5 hours, picked up my kids from school/daycare, made dinner, ate dinner, got the kids to bed, talked to my husband, passed out.
Rinse and repeat.
My husband, who was in school for much of my children’s early years, was also often picking up or dropping off one of…
