on how to manage exhaustion
Sittin’ in the mornin’ sun
I’ll be sittin’ when the evenin’ come
Watching the ships roll in
And then I watch ’em roll away again, yeah
The Dock of the Bay, Otis Redding
Last week was fall break at the university where I teach, and I really needed it. The semester at work has been challenging. I’m teaching five classes, two of them new to me, and I spent the summer preparing for them. I’m not sure if I’m ready yet, with two and a half books still to read for a world literature course.
When you add my work as a lay pastor and Katie’s long-term recovery from a TBI, it’s been a long haul. So I told Katie we were going to rent a cottage near a lake and collapse, and we did. The lake part was important. I grew up on the coast in South Florida, and few things calm me as much as a large body of water.
It made me wonder, though, about the difference between exhaustion and fatigue. While I knew it was probably a matter of intensity and time, I guessed wrong. Because I am familiar with the term chronic fatigue, I assumed exhaustion was the temporary version, following an intense workout, for example.
After climbing a few flights of stairs, we might say, “I’m exhausted,” which is more dramatic than saying “I’m fatigued.” But we’re not, really. Exhaustion is a complete depletion of energy that follows prolonged periods of fatigue and verges on burnout or collapse. In those terms, I’m going to say that I’m exhausted because for several weeks I’ve been fatigued.
Exhaustion is relative, of course, and two years after her fall, Katie is probably more exhausted than I am, and you may be more exhausted than I am, too. It’s not a competition, but it does require attention. I was losing my focus. And joy. So, I was ready for the break, designed for the faculty to catch up on midterm grades. I didn’t take any papers to grade and never took my laptop out of the bag.
We rented Lake Breeze Cottage on Airbnb in Coloma, Michigan, “a stone’s throw from the lake,” although it turns out you would need a pretty strong arm. And to get to a public beach, you had to drive for a couple of minutes. The cottage was small; “cozy” is the marketing term.
But Valarye, the owner, had thoughtfully designed the experience. Her communication was warm and fast. The nightlight in the hall outside the bathroom is an example, a welcome beacon in a strange house. There was wood for the fire pit. The guest book was helpful and even attractive. The art was tasteful, and the bed was comfortable. It was just what we needed. I’m grateful for the resources that allow us to do something like this.
We met some friends in Benton Harbor at the Mason Jar for lunch on Thursday, refreshing in its own way. On Saturday afternoon, we drove 20 minutes to South Haven to walk out to the lighthouse at the end of the pier. We decided to eat out at the Taste, a small plates venue, rather than returning to the cottage and preparing our food. Meals were simple: we brought some leftovers and scrambled some eggs.
We drove to the public beach each night to watch the sun set beneath a cloudy sky, the water blue, the sand white, and the sky pink. Other than that, we napped and read, and listened to some 60s classic rock on Apple Music Essentials, which started with a reference in something Katie was reading to Neil Diamond. This led to “Sweet Caroline” and then to “Be My Baby,” “Happy Together,” and the rest. After 51 years of marriage, it’s remarkable how shallow the lyrics are to songs we once loved. But at least we didn’t have to think about them.
We watched a little TV, very rare for me. I had brought an issue of the County Highway, a libertarian rag with extended essays about things like the world lumberjack competition in Wisconsin. Katie read me some excerpts from Kevin DeYoung’s excellent Daily Doctrine, which is more devotional than it sounds. Good theology always leads to worship.
Did I mention the naps? Because they were frequent and necessary. Elijah, who had run at least a hundred miles from Queen Jezebel, was so exhausted and discouraged that he lay down under a broom tree and prayed to die. God told him to eat and sleep before he came to him and spoke to him.
I wasn’t that tired, and I wasn’t that discouraged, but the prescription is the same. Physical rest must sometimes precede spiritual and emotional renewal. The whole weekend was a sabbath for the soul, an intentional setting aside of work and the demands of daily life for recovery and rest. I recommend it, even if it is as simple as a day at a park or beside a lake.
Although our mini-retreat helped, it did not completely heal. Here on the other side, I am grateful but not yet restored. And I still have those papers to grade. I’m not burned out, however, and fatigue I can manage, until Thanksgiving, anyway.
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What about you? How do you manage exhaustion? Or recognize it?
the daysman 