Published in the San Diego Union-Tribune, December 2, 2024
by Neil Senturia
Be careful what you wish for. You may get it.
I skipped a column a week ago, and the next day I got two emails wondering where “their” column was and inquiring if perhaps I had died.
My wife, Ms. Bry, and I have written over 600 columns spanning 13 years. We put them into a chatbot called unicornhunter.ai so the wisdom of the ages is now available for free at a touch of a mouse. (I do not think this will in any way diminish the Union-Tribune subscriptions.)
Herewith the dilemma. I had Jewish parents who had some interesting perspectives on work. In the case of my father, a relatively famous radiologist, he continued working full time at the hospital until the last three weeks before the cancer finally knocked him out.
When he was offered surgery that would extend his life a few years, he said “fuhgeddaboudit” and checked out. This was not a man inclined to waste any time with niceties. Done and done.
In the case of my Jewish mother, enough said. If there were any shortage of guilt in the neighborhood, she could find a heaping dose and offer it for free to anyone within shouting distance.
I grew up in St. Louis. It snows in that part of the country, and if it snowed enough, they would cancel school. The rule in my family was simple. If the snow did not come above your kneecaps, you were going to school. Period, paragraph, done and done again.
Which brings me to the foreign concept in my family of “the sabbatical.” Yes, parents, it is not a sin that will close the doors of heaven forever, to take some time off and “recharge your batteries.” The thought crossed my mind. But I still needed approval, and so I turned to a research paper written by three university professors, Kira Schabram, Matt Bloom and D.J. DiDonna.
I figured this was cheaper than spending an hour with my shrink trying to justify my intellectual weakness and lack of grit.
The professors describe three kinds of sabbaticals. First, the “working holiday.” That is where you work on something you love, a passion project, like learning to play Beethoven’s Fifth on your guitar. You also can seek to “rekindle long-neglected relationships.” That assumes that when I contact my roommate from college, he will be thrilled to hear from me. Or more likely, remind me that I took his Bob Dylan records, and I should return them.
The second kind of sabbatical is “free dives.” You just need an adventure. Trek Nepal; backpack in Patagonia.
You know, head out on the open road, no direction home, and then about 374 miles later when you find that there is no charging station for your Tesla within 100 miles, this might cause you to more carefully ponder the phrase “fly over country.”
The third kind is the “quest.” You are seeking “a radical new self.” This usually starts with walking into the boss’s office and offering an extended presentation, complete with white board, on why the guy is a total jerk and ends with a variety of salutations, one of which is usually I’m outta here, and go ____.
However, the profs end with this. “Let’s not mince words: There is a risk that a great employee who takes a sabbatical will not return.” This is not usually the fault of the employer, but rather like Forrest Gump, “I just felt like runnin’.”
All things considered, a sabbatical won’t kill you, but there is a fourth risk. That is the one that starts with, “It’s been swell, but don’t bother coming back, and don’t worry, we’ll send the dead flowers on your desk to your last known address.”
I am going to try to take the cure, throwing caution to the wind — outta here, at least until Jan. 6.
Finally, a brain teaser — how is politics like entrepreneurship? Try this from Perplexity. “Entrepreneurs are typically motivated by profit and market success. Politicians are motivated (ideally) by public service.”
Talk about AI and hallucinations, seems it left out the part about money and power.
Percy Shelley said it best, long before AI. “My name is Ozymandias, King of Kings: Look on my works, ye Mighty and despair!”
Rule No. 833: Sic transit gloria mundi.