Most Leaders Steward Everything Except Themselves
Ian and I rarely take summer vacations. Even when our son was school-aged, we would usually plan our annual trip within a week or two of classes ending. And now that he’s graduated, we always travel off-season.
Part of this habit is practical. We don’t particularly enjoy extreme heat, and we definitely don’t enjoy crowds. Traveling this way means things feel calmer, slower, and more in tune with how we actually like to experience a place.
This preference also reflects something deeper for us. Our vacation time feels precious, and the act of planning and traveling are simply my favorite things to do. Because we have a limited budget and time away, it is worth it to use these resources thoughtfully.
Canopy of Calm, watercolor by Ian Mutton
So I research carefully, build the itinerary around what matters most to us, and leave enough room to enjoy ourselves instead of racing from one thing to another. Even our decision to travel “off rhythm” from most people came from wanting the experience to feel restorative rather than exhausting.
Meanwhile, back at home, it’s remarkably easy to move through the rest of the year with far less intention about our own energy and attention. Parker Palmer once wrote, “Self-care is never a selfish act—it is simply good stewardship of the only gift I have.”
What strikes me most about that quote is the word stewardship.
Most leaders I know take stewardship seriously. They think carefully about budgets, staffing, timelines, donor dollars, and the responsibilities they carry to their organizations and communities. They pay attention to waste. They try to use resources wisely. They think about sustainability and long-term impact.
But their personal energy often falls into a different category. Many of us treat ourselves as the flexible part of the equation. We assume we can absorb one more commitment, one more evening meeting, one more season of operating at a breakneck pace.
And because capable people usually can function this way for a long time, the behavior becomes easy to justify. We still meet goals and deadlines, and people continue to experience us as dependable and responsive.
The problem is that depletion rarely announces itself all at once. It appears gradually in how difficult it becomes to focus deeply. In the way small inconveniences suddenly feel disproportionately frustrating. In how hard it is to be fully present with the people we care about because our minds are still cycling through unfinished tasks and unresolved decisions. I’m speaking here from experience.
What’s especially revealing is how quickly many of us reconnect to a different pace once we do step away. Time seems to stretch out a little longer on vacation. Phones become less important. We notice things again. We allow ourselves to explore or to sit still without immediately trying to make the moment productive.
None of that happens because we suddenly become different people two weeks out of the year. It happens because we finally start treating our time, attention, and energy as finite resources instead of endlessly renewable ones.
That same mindset belongs in ordinary life, too, but certainly not as another thing to optimize or perfect. It is more simply the recognition that stewardship applies to you as much as it applies to budgets, teams, and mission statements.