Finding the elusive sweet spot between chaos and boredom

It's possible that the whole point of resting is that it leads you to the next important thing

After nearly a decade of being on the road on behalf of Moms Demand Action, I found out at the end of 2022 that I’d qualified for United Airlines’ coveted Global Services designation. It meant a special entrance to the TSA line, a car to drive me to a connection if I was running late, upgrades to First Class. The email subject line was, CONGRATULATIONS! As if spending all that time in a plane seat was a personal accomplishment.

That year, before the midterm elections, I’d spent months on the road going from campaign event to campaign event. Every day I was sent to a different park or church basement or strip mall office campaign headquarters to rally people to get out the vote. I knew it was important work, but it was also incredibly lonely. When I think back on that time, I mostly remember the gyms where I’d try to get some steps in after sitting on planes and in cars, the restless nights trying to adapt to different time zones and, of course, dinners in my hotel room with just the Twitter feed on my phone to keep me company.

It was during that period of travel that I finally realized the toll my years of travel had taken on me and my home life. I mostly saw my husband on weekends for most of that year, and I didn’t have the time to visit my adult kids when they needed me. My ability to explore other interests outside of my work role was nonexistent.

When I’d started Moms Demand Action a decade earlier, the days of working from the moment I woke up until the moment I went to bed were energizing. But now, realizing there was no gas left in the tank, I decided to step back from my leadership role. I committed that I would do less for at least a year. And then I immediately broke that promise to myself by agreeing to write a book. Instead of sitting on a plane, I spent nearly nine months sitting in a chair at my desk at home writing and conducting interviews. And even though I was still busy, and the writing process was more difficult than I imagined, I felt alive again. I was fully engaged in a new and interesting project.

After I finished and handed in my manuscript, I actually did have free time. I woke up and luxuriated in bed until I felt like getting up. I rearranged closets and read books. I traveled to three different states to help my kids move into new apartments. I enrolled in a Boston University genealogy course online. I started learning how to box. Every day was relatively stress-free and unfilled by endless work meetings or imminent deadlines. For an entire month, I did nothing but live day-to-day with little to no pressure. And, honestly, after a month, I began to get a little bored. But I also felt open to new possibilities.

And then, in late July, I woke up one morning and tweeted that white women should emulate and honor the Zooms that had been arranged by Black women and men to support the new presidential candidate, Kamala Harris. My Tweet went viral, I became the de facto organizer of that Zoom, and once again my life returned to chaos. And it felt amazing—I went back into the vortex of what I do best: organizing people. That Zoom led to a trip to the DNC and new speeches and more events and even fundraisers. I was busier than ever, and my husband and I became two work roommates passing each other in the kitchen when we happened to run into one another while grabbing a snack.

It made me wonder why my life feels like it’s either feast or famine. Why am I always either too busy or so bored? Is it possible to strike a balance between feeling like you’re contributing to the world, and, at the same time, having the space to breathe and rest and invest in your relationships? Is a period of rest required to get back into the world in a way that gives you a new perspective and energy?

Recently, my husband’s sister called to tell him that her best friend Kathy’s husband had passed away unexpectedly. The couple, both in their late fifties, had just married in May. They’d completely upended their lives, moved from California to Mexico, and started what they’d hoped would be a long and adventurous life together. But, one day, Kathy’s husband started feeling ill at work and drove home. She got a call from a security guard that her husband had run into a retaining wall in the neighborhood with his car, and she should come quickly. She found her husband in his car, clearly having a heart attack. He died in Kathy’s arms.

The story was devastating, and I couldn’t shake it. It made me wonder if my husband and I were living in a way that would make us regret spending so much of our time focused on our work and passions instead of one another. It was a big question, and it filled the space between us until our therapy appointment that week. As I’ve written about here, John and I go to therapy together once a week as a way to proactively protect our marriage.

I told our therapist the story about Kathy and described my conundrum: I’d stepped back from Moms Demand to unbusy myself, and then found myself busier than ever. She thought for a bit and then responded, “You can’t live your lives worrying about the worst-case scenario. And it wouldn’t be healthy to be only focused on each other. It’s ok to occasionally get lost in other things as long as you come back to one another.”

Her response didn’t solve the riddle of what is too much versus not enough, but it gave me perspective—remembering in my downtime and during the whirlwinds that my husband and our relationship is my home base.

I do know that I never again want to travel so much that I’m a Global Services member, but I do want to explore. I don’t want to work full-time, but I want to have projects and passions in my life that light me up. I want the ability to relax enough that it prepares me for the next big thing. And I want my husband to be at the center of my life, knowing the container is big enough to hold the two of us and everything we’re interested in outside of our relationship.

Maybe there will never be balance, but maybe that is the balance. As Martha Beck says, “When we know we’re safe and we know we’re loved and nobody’s putting too many demands on us, the creativity and generativeness of the human imagination, the human mind, the human body, they are unstoppable.”

What does balance mean to you?