If something didn’t change—and fast—I wasn’t going to make it to my forty-first birthday. I hadn’t taken a meaningful day off work in months. Going all-in, no brakes, was fun for a season: the feeling of adrenaline coursing through my veins as I made the final touches on a major project, moving miles a minute through obstacles that were no longer a problem. As a long-term strategy, this failed. Every time.

Sure, I’d taken plenty of personal and sick days along with holidays in the last year. But just because I wasn’t at the office didn’t mean I was resting. In the last three months alone, our family braved a dangerous ice storm; my husband had his last major surgery related to an unfortunate event from last year; we celebrated four years since Adoption Day for our daughter Gabby; my team survived Tax Day; I celebrated 13 years at my current company; and I launched my first book.

After the whirlwind was over, if I didn’t strategically step away, things would start to break down. The signs were already there. Allowing that to happen would be a costly and painful mistake. I was determined not to let it go there this time.

“Why don’t you take a day off?” my husband suggested. At first, the idea sounded too simple to work. A day away from the office wasn’t equivalent to a solution to burnout. But what could it look like to add intentionality behind some time off? Deciding to follow his advice was almost instant. What day would make sense? That’s when I nailed down the date: two days after Tax Day, I would step away.

But taking a day off wasn’t the hard part. Taking one intentionally was. I didn’t want a random Friday filled with errands, distractions, Netflix binging, or half-rest. I wanted to interrupt the rhythm I’d been living inside of long enough to remember what it felt like to be a person instead of a machine.

Expect things not to go as planned

Friday came, and all started according to plan… then my phone started blowing up.

All 35 members of my immediate family are taking a trip out East this summer to celebrate my parents’ fiftieth wedding anniversary. That’s too many people to squeeze into one rental, so we all coordinated short-term rentals to stay nearby. There will be group events throughout the week, but having almost three dozen humans in the same spaces will take some planning.

My family decided it would happen that day. The first day off I’d had in months. Perfect timing. Disruption rarely asks permission before arriving.

I turned the text thread and notifications off, and to solidify the decision, I turned all my electronics to “Do Not Disturb” mode. (Whoever invented that feature, Thank You!)

This day won’t be perfect, so it isn’t fair to expect it to be. Remember: the goal isn’t perfection; it’s disruption. If your normal rhythm is stress, speed, obligation, and reaction, then even a slightly imperfect day can still be wildly restorative.

Pick a day to step away

The minute you lock in the day, just know: invites will start rolling in. There will be conflicts galore. Protect that day. Don’t give in. Interrupting your rhythm will be worth it. Choose a day with intention. Don’t wait until burnout forces the decision for you.

Your body is usually polite before it becomes dramatic.

Plan ahead

Anything you can do beforehand, do it. Removing potential interrupters in advance will only help. The only person who knew how and where to find me that Friday was my husband. Accessibility is one of the biggest threats to rest. Constant availability trains your brain to stay alert, even when your body is technically off the clock. If everyone can reach you instantly, your brain never fully clocks out. Creating boundaries ahead of time isn’t selfish; it’s practical.

I get to work at 6:00 a.m., sometimes even arriving before the sun! I knew I wanted to stay up late the night before my day off, sleep in, yet still get up at a decent hour before the day slipped away entirely. I need 7-8 hours of sleep each night. If I stayed up till 1:00 a.m., I could get up at 8:00 a.m. and have squeezed in the bare minimum of sleep. That would give me just enough time to get ready for the day and head to my first venue by 8:30 a.m.

Note on the venue(s)… do your research. I lost some momentum during the two-hour writing retreat portion of my day while waiting in line for coffee (apparently, Friday mornings are when everyone has the same idea), trying to find the WiFi password (and utterly failing), and being distracted by the new venue. Don’t be like me. Choosing a familiar yet offsite enough venue can help.

Environment matters more than we admit. A change in scenery can shift your mindset, but unfamiliar places also come with friction. Strike a balance between “different enough to feel fresh” and “familiar enough to avoid wasting mental energy.”

The goal of this step is to clear your schedule and prime it for your Top Three.

This was the most important part of the entire day. Without intention, free time tends to disappear into scrolling, errands, chores, or vague productivity disguised as rest.

Ask yourself, “What do I want to feel like when this day is over?”

This question alone inspired the entirety of my day. I wanted to feel accomplished yet grateful and relaxed at the end of the day.

Establish your Top Three

If you can’t do anything else on the day you’ve chosen, what are the three things you want to have done that day? Think less about achievement and more about alignment. What would make the day feel worthwhile when it was over?

Naps in excess of an hour count! Notice the order of events: therapy/relaxation was last. I’m glad I planned this for the end of the day. I arrived home relaxed, ready to tackle tasks, but still refused to do them… until the next day.

Part of breaking your rhythm means refusing to follow your usual script. My weekdays typically begin before sunrise, which meant sleeping in felt almost rebellious. That alone made the day feel different.

Nothing dramatic happened that Friday. No breakthrough. No life-changing revelation. Just a quiet interruption to a pattern that had been running unchecked for too long.

How did I actually feel when Friday was over?

Accomplished. Meaningful. Relaxed. In that order.

Sometimes the healthiest thing you can do is disrupt the rhythm that’s slowly wearing you down. Not everything in life needs to be maintained. Some patterns deserve to be broken.

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Because once you lose it, you spend the next hour pretending to work while actually just rearranging sentences and questioning your life choices.

Then I saw my husband’s name pop up with a play button. It was a video of my daughter enjoying her new bounce house, complete with an inflated slide, basketball hoop, and water spraying in all directions.

Chaos. Joy. Zero calendar invites.

I lived in the north for almost three decades. Experiencing snow as a kid was pure bliss. Snow days were a rare and delicious treat. As an adult, needing to make it to the office in a full-on white-out was…dread.

Somewhere along the way, wonder got rescheduled.

That day, my daughter was fully in the moment.

Time didn’t exist. The only metric was: keep going.

No outcome. No agenda. Just…more.

I was on a schedule.

Every hour accounted for, every task justified.

Every minute explained, as if existing required permission.

Kids experience life to the fullest.

Adults? We manage things.

We get better at life and worse at living it.

• Fluorescent paradise for eight hours: controlled productivity.
  The kind that looks impressive on paper and feels like nothing in your body.

• Bounce house for six hours: complete freedom.
  The kind you can’t measure, which is probably why we stop choosing it.

And there it was, the tension no one warns you about: the life you’re building versus the life happening without you.

One looks responsible. The other feels real.

I chose the latter. And did just the same as my daughter: spent the remainder of daylight outside, watching her exemplify joy.

No optimization. No productivity hack. Just showing up.

When given the choice, I hope we all choose the second option.

Even when it feels inconvenient. Even when it makes no sense on paper.

We learned to manage it. We forgot to be in it.

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Growing up, I never felt normal.

Not that I even knew what “normal” was supposed to feel like. Does anyone? I doubt it. But what I did feel—deeply—was that I didn’t belong. I stood out in ways I couldn’t explain, and not always in ways I liked.

The moment I got my first whiff of success, imposter syndrome hit like a freight train. “Should I even be here?” “Am I just faking it better than most?”

Spoiler Alert: I wasn’t. But the questions stuck.

Then came adulthood, and with it, a strange and surprising realization:
Maybe being normal is a curse.
Perhaps oddness is the goal! 🎯

What’s the truth?

If you’re asking this question, you might already be weird.

Welcome. You’re in good company. Let’s embrace it on purpose.

1. Don’t Go to College

Right away… or maybe ever.

To be clear, I’m not anti-education; I’m anti-doing-things-just-because-that’s-what-you’re-supposed-to-do. And college? That’s a big-ticket item in the supposed-to-do starter pack.

If you don’t know what you want to do with your life (and who really does at 16, 17, or 18 years old?), why drop tens of thousands of dollars to figure it out in the confines of a lecture hall?

Take a gap year. Or five. Or skip it entirely and build your syllabus from podcasts, books, apprenticeships, YouTube rabbit holes, and real-world experience, and good ol’ trial and error.

Plot Twist: Some of the most resourceful, brilliant people I know never went to college. 😱 Now they’re busy running businesses, raising families, inventing stuff, and doing work they love. (And no one asked them about their GPA.)

I went to college, and I’m grateful for the discipline learned and connections made. But my degree mentally boxed me in. It told me, “You studied this. You must do only this.” The rebel inside screamed, Says who?!

If you love learning, keep learning. But don’t let the pressure to be “normal” sign you up for years of debt, stress, and existential dread if your heart's not in it.

Being weird means choosing your path, not defaulting to one that’s pre-paved.

2. Budget Your Money

Budgeting is severely underrated. I know this because of what it truly is: guilt-free permission to spend. To tell your money where to go instead of wondering where it went. To fund your dreams on purpose, not just survive.

Some folks hear “budget” and receive a side of indigestion as they begin picturing spreadsheets, ramen noodles, and soul-crushing denial. Done right, a budget provides freedom, not restriction.

It's not about saying “no” to everything fun; it's about saying “yes” to the right things: travel, side hustles, or finally starting that weird Etsy shop selling miniature diving gear for birds. (No judgment. I'm there for it!) 🤿

I use EveryDollar.com for several reasons: it’s simple, it’s my favorite price (free!), and it doesn’t judge me when I overspend on books or office supplies. Managing your money well is rare enough to be rebellious.

Being weird means being intentional.

3. Budget Your Time

Just like budgeting, tell your time where to go, or you’ll wonder where it went.

That feeling of money slipping through your fingers when you don’t track it? Time’s even sneakier. At least with money, there’s a paper trail.

Time just vanishes. Poof. Gone! 💨

Somehow, you’re four episodes into a show you don’t even like, wondering what happened to Thursday. (Guilty as charged! 🙋🏽‍♀️)

Budgeting your time doesn’t mean plotting out each second; it means being aware of how you spend those moments. You don’t get them back. Think of your calendar like a bank account with limited deposits. Spend accordingly.

And yes, “fun” belongs in the budget. Netflix? Hulu? Binge away—as long as you know it’s a choice, not an accident. The advantage of streaming platforms is, they tell you exactly how much time you’ll spend, like a calorie count for your attention span.

Being weird means managing time like it matters, because it does.

4. Get Acquainted with God

It’s not religion; it’s relationship.

For a long time, I thought God lived in a church building. My family dressed up, showed up, and sang the songs. “Normal” said God was a Sunday occurrence—a ritual, a checklist item, something we did out of duty, not desire.

I didn’t need a ritual—I needed a rescuer.

I didn’t need performance—I needed presence.

Getting acquainted with God isn’t about earning His love or impressing Him with expected behavior. It’s about trusting that He created you, He already knows you, He loves you dearly, and He wants to walk with you in the mess and the beauty.

It’s rarely tidy. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s obnoxious, complete with an ugly cry. But it’s real.

Weird people invite God into the everyday. They ask questions. They wrestle. They pray with imperfect words. In this raw and honest space, they find the kind of peace the world can’t manufacture.

Being weird means making room for God each day, not just on Sunday.

5. Talk to Yourself

Tell yourself the right things.

Whether you know it or not, you’re already talking to yourself. The only question is, what’s the message?

We would never vocalize the things we tell ourselves. Negative self-talk has a strong magnetic pull. The key to being weird (and successful) is learning to redirect the internal conversation.

Don’t focus on what you can’t do or what went wrong; tell yourself what you can do. Focus on your strengths, your possibilities, your “what ifs.”

Choose to believe you’re worthy of success, peace, and happiness, even though the world may disagree with you. Your internal dialogue is the soundtrack of your life, so make it one you want to listen to. 🎧

Being weird means speaking to yourself with love and encouragement.

The “normal” world is full of checkboxes, restrictions, and “shoulds.” But the weird world? It’s full of possibilities. Taking the road less traveled, even if it feels a little bumpy, will pay off. Your weirdness is your superpower.

Be weird: it’s where the good stuff happens! 🤪

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