The Beginning of My Summer Sabbatical

James Pothen
Sep 4, 2018 · 6 min read

It was spring when I first arrived in New York; a warm and inviting April where everything was as it should be. I still remember the terror and joy as I rode the subway into Manhattan, watching the glistening metal spikes inch closer across the East River. At night I would stare at the unfinished Freedom Tower, proud and tall and bright and incomplete. We were in it together. We would rise from the ashes.

I had my own things to prove. Though I had been groomed to attend an elite college, I had largely been a disappointment once I had gotten there and had little to show for it in the years since. I had all the skills and potential but something kept standing in the way. I couldn’t seem to sleep, I was moody. There would occasionally be weeks when I lacked the will to do anything besides drown myself in YouTube and movies.

But the years of suffering had made me strong. I came to New York prepared to take on the task ahead of me. I would seek my fortunes by learning to build websites. With this skill, I could ascend to the middle-class destiny I had long been promised. There really was a path to prosperity through hard work and brains. I was laser-focused. It was time to show the world my true power.

It was summer when I accepted the job offer. My birthday, actually. I was in Central Park watching men make giant bubbles out of plastic hoops. The air was rich and warm with the scent of victory. It was then that I knew this crazy programming thing was going to work. I had my first full-time job. It only took three years after college to get there.

It was fall five years later when I got the diagnosis: Dysthymia, a mild but chronic form of depression. Suddenly the something blocking out the light had a name. The sleeplessness, moodiness, and lethargy were all linked. With some medication and therapy, I could be a new man.

The question was: did I want to be? I knew who I was when I was depressed. But I had lived my entire adult life with this plague on me. Part of me clung to the idea that I could see things that others could not see. That depression gave me a different perspective. Without it, someone new would be born.

It was winter when the medication started to work. The new person had been born and was now in infancy. I spent a good amount of time sleeping. When I woke in the morning I soaked in a sun lamp and listened to happy music. I found myself drawn to other infants, cradling them in my arms, sharing my strength and warmth and receiving their gentleness and contentment. Whenever I needed a happy memory to drive the darkness away I would think on that.

I spent Christmas in the city. Some friends were out of town and asked if I would house-sit for them. The gig included caring for their cat, who became my companion and source of cheer. I had long resisted caring for a pet, thinking myself ill-suited to caregiving. But to my surprise I found it a pleasure to care for another living thing. In the lull between yuletide and the New Year I would go to sleep with a view of the Manhattan skyline shining against the darkness.

It was spring again when others started to notice a change. Like a young child I was friendly and kind, joyful, innocent, and even playful. I started to feel like I was part of humanity. I was human. I belonged at last. But not at my job.

The New York Times felt a lot like college: elitist, inbred, high-performing, and insecure. Fear of failure was rampant. But I wasn’t afraid. I took chances and made mistakes. I apologized and made things right. I was ready to leave programming and start working with people. I applied for an HR job and poured my energies into my duties for a diversity committee.

My innocence ended one Friday afternoon. I had been flying high without thought to consequences. Three separate crises of my own making collided. I crashed hard. As on that November night, I wept bitterly. But not without comfort this time. A friend offered me comfort and counsel. I made amends as best I could.

But, it wasn’t enough it seemed. At least at work. After being yelled at by a colleague affected by my actions, I went to HR to try and work things out. Initially, I was reassured. Weeks passed with no update. And then, one Thursday afternoon, I had what would be my final meeting at The Times.

It was summer when I was fired. I remember carrying bags full of my things down to Herald Square, sitting down, and wondering what I was going to do. HR had told me that my actions had resulted in my colleagues not being comfortable with me being in the office. I was a repeat offender, and this was the end. I was handed a pack of papers and escorted out.

I had made a deal with God when I first moved to the city. If He gave me enough money to pay the rent, I would stay in the city. Now, I was jobless and would shortly be homeless. My lease was ending in a few days and without a letter of employment I wouldn’t be able to sign a new one.

It was then that I discovered holy luck. I prayed and asked for help. I reached out to my church friends and to my family. Hands eagerly reached out to help me move. A place opened up in deep Brooklyn. I found myself in a spare room, sharing a home with a married couple, their two sons, and a large dog named Cooper.

As jarring as the firing was, the change of pace was welcome. Prior to my termination, I had found myself staring out the window on warm afternoons, longing to wander the streets and reconnect with the city. My productivity was waning. And my hobbies were nonexistent.

And then there I was. Suddenly free from the 9 to 5. It was exhilarating. It was terrifying. It was exactly what I needed. Thanks to more holy luck I was debt-free, had some financial runway, and had one of those “figure out your life” books lying around. I decided to lean into the break and use the summer to find a new direction.

The model I chose to follow was the Sabbatical — something I had picked up from my years as a professor’s kid. Every few years the University would grant my dad a year off to rest, and recharge. I remember my Dad doing some traveling and getting to collaborate with folks outside of his normal circles. And while that was normal in his profession I found that it was an alien idea in the corporate world, despite the benefits to both employers and employees:

  • Decrease of employee stress levels
  • Increase in employee’s psychological resources and well-being
  • Stress-test for the organizational chart
  • Opportunities for aspiring leaders to grow

I had a rough idea of what I would do: wander around the city, work through my Sabbatical book from coffee shops, spend time with friends, and invest in some new hobbies. I could find things that nourished and energized me. And with a renewed perspective I would be able to figure out what to do next.

It will soon be fall. The summer has proved to be better than I could have hoped. And now I am ready to share what I have learned along the way.

James Pothen

Written by

Indian-American, Millennial, Depressive, Virginian, Homeschooler, and Evangelical Christian. New York City | https://www.jamespothen.com/

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