Years ago, when I was running the Minnesota Coalition for the Homeless, my mom gave me some invaluable advice.
I was on the phone with her one day, talking about how I needed to go to work even though I was incredibly ill. I had an event that still needed some planning, a long list of tasks I had written down the day before, and—at least in my mind—a whole bunch of things that simply could not wait.
My mom listened patiently as I explained everything I was needed for. I suspect she listened while I coughed, sneezed, and generally sounded like someone who should have been nowhere near a workplace.
When I finally finished explaining all the reasons I needed to go in, she matter-of-factly said:
“Michael, you are not that important.“
Not exactly the words you expect to hear from a loved one when you’re looking for encouragement.
And yet, I have treasured those words ever since.
She was right.
First, the Coalition’s staff would understand my absence. In fact, they’d probably appreciate it. The last thing they needed was for their boss to show up sick, spend the day coughing and sneezing all over the office, and potentially share whatever miserable bug I had with everyone else.
Second, even if I did go to work, I probably wouldn’t accomplish very much. When you’re genuinely sick, you can convince yourself that you’re being productive while spending twice as much time accomplishing half as much. My presence would not necessarily have helped the organization. It might simply have made me a sick person sitting at a desk.
And third—and perhaps most importantly—if something really needed to get done, someone else would figure it out.
Maybe it wouldn’t get done exactly the way I would have done it. Maybe it would take a little longer. Maybe someone would make a different decision than I would have made. But the Coalition would survive.
That last point has stuck with me because it applies to so much more than deciding whether to go to work while sick.
Thinking we are that important can be a recipe for stress, anxiety, and eventually burnout.
We convince ourselves that everything depends on us. We need to answer every email. Attend every meeting. Solve every problem. We tell ourselves that if we don’t do something, it won’t get done—or at least it won’t get done properly.
Such thinking is often ego. There is an important difference between being responsible and believing that everything depends on you.
I’ve learned that organizations, families, communities, and even movements are healthier when they don’t depend too heavily on any one person. If everything falls apart when one person takes a day off, gets sick, goes on vacation, retires, or simply says, “I can’t do this today,” that’s not a sign of how important that person is. It’s a sign that the system isn’t working very well.
There is also something liberating about realizing that you’re not indispensable. You can take a day off. You can delegate the task. You can leave an email unanswered until tomorrow. You can say no.
As Tom Waits sings, “The world will keep turning.”
We can contribute enormously to a cause, an organization, a family, or a community—and still recognize that we are only one part of something much larger than ourselves. In fact, if we want to contribute for the long haul, taking care of ourselves isn’t selfish. It’s part of the work.
My mom’s advice that day wasn’t only about staying home from work. It was about perspective. It was her way of reminding me that I mattered—but that I wasn’t the center of the universe.
There’s something comforting about that.
