Honestly,
I would like to make a modest proposal.
Take PTO on a snow day.
I realize this may be a very Minnesota position. Some of you are reading this somewhere warm, holding a drink with a pineapple attached to it. Please enjoy your piña colada while I explain the emotional significance of a school closing.
As a child, a snow day was a gift.
You went to bed expecting an ordinary day. Then the weather intervened, and suddenly the day belonged to you.
There was snow to play in. Cookies to bake. Nowhere you were supposed to be.
My kids used to get excited about snow days, too.
Now we have the technology to keep going.
School can move online. Work can follow us home. The roads can disappear under a foot of snow, and somehow the meeting invitation remains perfectly accessible.
We have solved the problem of interruption.
I am not entirely convinced it was always a problem.
There are real benefits to being able to work and learn from home. I appreciate them. I would prefer not to slide through an intersection simply to prove my commitment to answering email from a particular building.
But I miss the possibility that something unexpected could happen and we would let the day be different.
Somewhere between childhood and adulthood, a forecast that once meant freedom became a logistics meeting.
Who is home? Who has a call? What needs shoveling? Is everybody’s device charged?
All reasonable questions.
I would like to add one more.
Could I take the day off?
Not pretend to work while resenting everyone who needs something. Not announce a lovely family day and spend it saying, “Just let me finish this one thing.”
Actually take the day.
Use the time. Close the laptop. Let the cookies require my full professional attention.
I am not suggesting that every snowfall deserves a vacation day. I live in Minnesota. That would require a benefits package of considerable ambition.
And I know a snow day does not release everyone from their responsibilities. Some people still have to show up so the rest of us can be safe and cared for. Not everyone has paid time off available, and not every workplace can accommodate a short-notice absence.
But when I have the time and the flexibility, I want to stop dismissing the idea before I even ask.
Why does a day off need a plane ticket to feel legitimate?
Why can I plan time away months in advance but feel faintly irresponsible using a day because the people I love are home and the world outside looks worth stepping into?
There is always going to be something I could get done.
The inbox will not look at the weather and graciously declare itself finished.
I can make a reasonable plan for what needs covering. I can ask for the time. I can accept that some days the answer will be no.
And on the days it can be yes, I can let it be yes.
We spend a lot of adulthood trying to recreate the things that once made us happy. Sometimes we book them, budget for them, and drive several hours to reach them.
Sometimes they are falling outside the window.
Maybe my kids want to play outside. Maybe they want to bake cookies. Maybe they are older now and have their own plans, and my snow day includes a quiet house and absolutely no scheduled personal growth.
That counts, too.
I do not need to manufacture a perfect childhood memory.
I would just like to leave room for a good day I did not see coming.
So, consider this my small Minnesota campaign.
When the snow comes, and your circumstances allow it, ask for the day.
The cookies are not going to bake themselves.
Apparently, that is the one thing we have not moved to a virtual platform.
Reflections
1. What did an unexpected day off feel like when I was a child, and what part of that feeling do I miss?
2. Do I give myself permission to use time off for enjoyment, or does it need to serve a sufficiently important purpose?
3. What ordinary opportunity for rest or connection have I been postponing until a better time?
From the Toolbox
1. Check what is possible. Before the next forecast, look at your available time off and how short-notice requests work. Knowing your options makes it easier to use them.
2. Make a clear request. Ask for the day rather than trying to squeeze a full workday and a day off into the same hours.
3. Cover what truly needs covering. Identify urgent commitments, arrange a necessary handoff, and tell people when you will return.
4. Let yourself be off. Set your away message and put the work away. A day of checking email between activities can leave you feeling absent from both.
5. Keep the day simple. Choose something you would enjoy: cookies, a walk, playing outside, or doing very little. If that day cannot work, choose another one soon. The point is to make room for enjoyment, not to create another assignment.
Honestly,
