WTL Issue 015 | January 14, 2026 |
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Coming Back Slowly
Lessons from the Long Haul
The office hallway feels both familiar and strange that first morning back. My footsteps echo differently somehow, or maybe I'm just noticing the sound after weeks of hearing other rhythms—waves, or wind through different trees, or the particular quiet of a space where no one expects anything from you.
At my desk, the space is oddly pristine. No scattered post-its, no half-finished coffee mug, no notebook splayed open to a page of meeting notes. Past me had cleared everything away before leaving, a small gift I'd forgotten about until now.
I press ESC on the keyboard. The password prompt blinks back at me, waiting. My fingers hover, confident, then tap out what feels right. Access denied. I lean back in the desk chair, the faux wood surface cool under my palms, and try to remember.
A second attempt fails. Now I'm flipping through my notebook, which I'd grabbed for an early meeting, scanning pages for clues. Time passes. The meeting happens. Eventually IT helps me back in, and I thank past me again for the clean desk, even as I brace for the inbox I know is waiting.
We've all felt that pull on the first day back. The pressure to prove the break is over, that we're fully present again, ready to sprint. I used to give in to it completely, arriving at the airport on a Sunday afternoon and checking email before I'd even retrieved my luggage. By Monday morning I was already three meetings deep into proving I'd never really left.
But in recent years something shifted. I came back from a trip on a Saturday and gave myself all of Sunday to exist in my own home. Unpacking slowly: getting groceries to restock the fridge. Folding laundry while my mind wandered wherever it wanted to go. That Monday, walking back into the office, I noticed I could still feel the break working in me. The spaciousness hadn't collapsed the moment I re-entered work mode. It had room to settle, to integrate, to actually change how I showed up.
I learned there was another way. That re-entry could be intentional, not rushed.
Field-Tested: Building Your Re-Entry
In Issue 013, I shared how I set out-of-office messages before breaks, including this piece: I block that first day entirely. No meetings, no new projects. Just the work of re-entering: reading email, sorting what's urgent from what waited. I keep my auto-responder active until I've cleared my inbox, so no one expects an immediate reply.
That approach has become part of a larger system for coming back in ways that honor both the work and the restoration.
Before I leave, I look at my calendar for the week I return. I choose one larger, meaningful task I want to focus on and one smaller organizational item. This gives me options depending on how that first day actually unfolds. Sometimes my energy is ready for something substantial. Sometimes I need the gentle satisfaction of clearing small things. Having both options waiting means I'm not scrambling to figure out what matters when I'm still finding my footing.
That first day back stays clear of meetings. I address anything genuinely urgent, then I reorient to my bigger priorities. The inbox comes last, not first. I've learned that most emails can be read once and handled immediately, which makes the volume less overwhelming than it appears.
I leave my out-of-office message running until I've actually reviewed my inbox. This small boundary matters more than it seems. It gives me permission to be present with what accumulated without the pressure of instant response.
That first week, I focus on reconnection over production. I check in with colleagues about what happened in my absence, not just what tasks need doing. I review what mattered before I left and notice if those priorities still hold. Then I set one to three focus areas for the next week or month. Not twenty resolutions. Not a complete overhaul. Just a few clear directions that emerged from the space I gave myself.
The goal is carrying forward what matters without fragmenting attention across too many things.
What's Coming in Q1
In November and December, I asked what content resonates most with you and what challenges you're facing in your climate work. Thank you to everyone who took the time to respond. Your input shapes what comes next.
You told me you want more on regenerative workflows and focus systems, and more on purposeful career design in climate work. Some of you asked for balance across all four content areas, which I'll continue offering.
Your biggest challenges cluster around three themes:
- making daily decisions about where to focus your energy,
- sustaining your work amid external chaos and burnout, and
- finding space for play and joy in climate leadership.
These themes will shape upcoming issues. You'll see more on decision-making frameworks, navigating uncertainty without losing yourself, and the case for climate joy.
Signals & Shifts
After 15 years working on Arctic and climate change policy in Alaska and at national and international levels, I've learned that sometimes the most important work we can do is change direction entirely. In It's time to do a 180 in our thinking about the climate crisis, published in The Seattle Times, I explore the Climate 180 approach: flipping the power dynamic, focusing on places poised to change quickly, and charting new paths to a climate resilient future.
The Winter Solstice offers its own kind of turning point. Light returns not all at once, but gradually, building momentum over weeks and months. Our work sometimes requires the same fundamental reorientation.
Question for reflection: What would change if you gave yourself permission to ease back into your work rather than rushing to prove you never really left?
Take good care of yourself and the work that's yours to do. Both matter more than you know.
Nikoosh
Work That Lasts arrives every other Wednesday. Forward to a colleague who might need these tools, or reply and let me know what's working in your own practice.
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