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“…the gospel of work is thin gruel, an ethically empty solution to meet our essential need for belonging and meaning. And it is starving us as individuals and communities.” –Carolyn Chen, Guest Essay, The New York Times

In 2018, I had been working for a respected, prominent American nonprofit theatre company on and off for over a decade. At that time, I was the Managing Director, and the organization experienced a tremendous upheaval.

The media had reported numerous sexual harassment allegations involving the artistic director, who had been my organizational partner for my entire tenure. The board promptly terminated his contract, and absent an associate artistic director, the entire operation was consolidated under me until the appointment of a successor.

It would be a demanding moment in the organization’s history, but I felt up for it. I always try to lead with grit, generosity, and optimism, and I assumed that these foundational values would steer my organization – and me personally – during this time.

As it turned out, they were not enough. The next thirteen months became the most trying of my life.

Leading a nonprofit at any time takes significant time and bandwidth. During a crisis, those demands exponentially increase. To be clear, I was not alone – incredible trustees, department heads, and other staff members labored tirelessly to make sure that the organization pulled through. It was truly “all hands-on deck.”

Yet, I was working constantly at the theatre, responding to email late at night and first thing in the morning, conducting conference calls on the weekends and during vacation. We worked – and worked, and worked – to steer the organization through a critical culture review and implement structural changes in response. We supported a national, comprehensive search process for a new artistic director, all while maintaining our regularly scheduled season of theatrical production (which all by itself poses an unforgiving schedule of hard deadlines).

Personal circumstances compounded the work challenges. For many years now, I have lived with clinical depression, effectively managing it with medication and periodic therapy. Prior to my diagnosis, I would “medicate” myself through the dopamine hit of hard work. When I felt that familiar emptiness in my gut, nothing could fill it like burrowing into a project or sending messages. As the stress of the crisis continued, my mental health deteriorated, and I relapsed into this old addiction and coping strategy. Work became my preferred drug of choice.

It took a serious toll. Perhaps the best illustration occurred when my family and I were on a vacation. Thoughts of the organization occupied all of my waking moments. My younger daughter would beg to play with me, and all I could do was stare out into space. I was essentially a living ghost, haunting the people whom I loved the most – physically present, but absent in every other way.

By the time our new artistic leader started over a year later, I was burned out on every level. Trustees and staff members who were closest to me started to point out that I was making the easiest decisions instead of the best decisions. It was becoming increasingly harder to be generous, to be optimistic, and to persevere. I felt a constant emptiness gnawing at me; I felt overextended and inadequate. It became clear that I had accomplished all that I could, and it was time to move on or endure even more significant losses.

I share my experience now because I know I’m not alone, and I hope it will help someone else.

The guest essay from The New York Times which I reference above reflects on research about how U.S. work culture replaces religion for many people. The piece really resonated with me – I had also substituted work for more important personal relationships and spiritual peace.

In particular, I was struck by the quote with which I open this post. I certainly starved myself, despite trying to fill the void by working even “harder” (i.e., more time) – but not smarter. I justified it by describing my career as ‘a calling.’  Even though work can provide purpose, I was blind to the fact that it is only one piece of a balanced and meaningful life (and, in fact, it might be the least important element). As the adage goes, we can always be replaced at work, but we cannot be replaced at home.

I want to share this as we return to full operations of our organizations and companies. As I talk with friends and colleagues, several of them express many of these same feelings. Some describe nearly crippling fatigue, pervasive sadness, and continued frustration, if not defeat. As non-profit leaders, many of us pour ourselves into our jobs, and we may feel compelled to work 24/7. There are many reasons we do this: the urgency of needed change, the stimulation of our jobs, the status conferred on leaders, or the call to serve. These factors can make it difficult to think clearly about our careers, our lives, and whether we need change.

If this sounds like you, please know that it is okay to feel this way. We have just experienced a collective trauma. The impact of the pandemic on the arts and culture sector was especially harrowing. As leaders, we had to make choices between the unthinkable and the untenable. Even in this moment, many of us are still in the midst of crisis, adapting to smaller audiences, a shortage of staff members, and adapting to the end of the relief funding that buoyed our organizations.

If any of my experience resonates, it may be time for you to reassess, as it was for me. What is most important to you now? What will make you content while giving you purpose? How could stepping back allow you to empower your loved ones to pursue their goals?  How could your organization benefit from fresh leadership?

I believe it is important that we use our time to repair the world, but our lives are not solely tools for this purpose. We are also created to appreciate the joy, love, and wonder that exists. Please try – as I still do – to let go of guilt around enjoying a fuller life. Your work will be better, you will be more deeply connected to your loved ones, and you can embrace the fullness of a meaningful life.

To reach Josh directly: jborenstein@odysseyassociates.llc

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