I met with my coach last week and shared, “I’m thinking about work too much. It keeps me up at night. I’ve started using my morning Me time to log in early and take care of stuff that’s on my mind so I can get it off my plate.”

One reason for doing this — for logging in early and thinking about work all the time — is that I’m engaged with what I’m doing, which is a good thing. I’m learning exciting things. I’m having fun with the people I work with. And I am really proud of what the teams I’m on are doing.

But more work begets more work, and by logging on early or logging off late, I create a vicious frenetic cycle of having to keep up with the extra work I’ve generated for myself by doing so. I make mistakes. My brain tires. Meanwhile, I don’t journal. I don’t blog. I don’t draw or look out the window at birds. My sleep suffers.

I told my coach about all of this. I told her that in order to do good work and not feel resentful of neglecting the things that nourish me, I need to figure this out. I told her I want to create boundaries so that I turn my work brain off to recharge. “Ugh, you’re probably going to tell me to meditate,” I said. She said not necessarily. Not in the sense of sitting on a cushion. But in the sense of being mindful and noticing when I’m thinking about work? Yes.

She suggested I start simple. If I want to preserve my morning time for quiet — for journaling, for reading, for looking out the window — I need to resist logging on to work before I intend for my work day to start. If I pull out my laptop to blog, I need to not “check Slack real quick” like I almost did when I lifted the cover today to write this post.

I’ve practiced all this week. It’s been hard. When I catch myself thinking about work outside of work hours, I tell myself, “I can think about this at 8am tomorrow.” If it’s something I need to remember and that’s why it’s bothering me, I set myself a reminder in a personal Slack with girlfriends.

It’s been hard but it’s also been wonderful. Yesterday morning I sat by the window and watched a robin pull fibers out of the shredded bark mulch and swoop under the stairs to add them to a nest. I watched him spar with another male robin to defend his territory — they twirled aggressively in the air, whipping their wings, until one finally chased the other off and the fat female came hopping out to say yeah, get out of here. Meanwhile two goldfinches courted down by the mailbox. The pear trees have filled out with chartreuse leaves, and the pink dogwoods raise their salmon colored flowers to the sun.

This morning, a robin again hops around in the flower bed, gathering nest materials. I’m writing a blog post. I’ll read a bit when I’m done. And at work? My brain has felt fresher each day thanks to the rest.