The Last Day of Summer Vacation

I have had nearly two months off between jobs. No meetings, no Slack notifications. For the first time in years, my days have mostly belonged to me.

When I was a child, the final weeks of summer had a very particular feeling. The holiday was still happening, technically. There were long days left, time to play outside, stay up late and pretend September was nowhere near. But the new school year had already started taking up space in my head.

Who would my teachers be? Where would I sit? Would the work be difficult? Would I like the people in my class?

There was excitement, but also a quiet sadness. Now, instead of wondering which classroom I will be in, I am wondering what the codebase will look like and how my colleagues are going to be.

There is a temptation to turn every career transition into a lesson. I could say the break taught me to slow down, transformed my relationship with productivity, and left me rested, renewed and carrying a perfectly optimised morning routine into my next chapter. That would be a nicer narrative, but also not true. Mostly, the break was just a break.

Some days were full. Some disappeared. I rested, travelled, made plans, abandoned plans, then tried to cram everything I still wanted to do into the final week.

I did not become a new person. I became more deliberate about my time. When it belongs entirely to you, you notice how you spend it, and how often you avoid choosing at all.

Being excited to return to work does not mean I failed at taking time off. Rest and restlessness can exist together.

The back-to-school comparison is not entirely metaphorical. Starting a new job feels a little like opening a new notebook. In my case, a new laptop. You imagine that this time you will keep everything organised: ask the right questions, take perfect notes, understand the architecture before touching anything and never spend forty minutes debugging a typo.

This illusion will probably survive until lunchtime on the first day.

Nothing has become ordinary yet: not the people, the systems, or even the small details of how the team talks and where everyone goes for lunch. Right now, it is all potential.

Now the remaining time feels more valuable because it is numbered, but my mind has already wandered into tomorrow. It is the last Sunday before school starts. My bag is packed, my clothes are ready, and I am less nervous than I expected. Mostly, I am curious.

I am ready for the structure of working life again, although I have not had enough of the freedom.

The holiday was good.

I am not ready for it to end.

I also cannot wait for Monday.