The Corporate Hangover: Learning to Slow Down Without the Guilt

I spent over 28 years in the corporate world moving at breakneck speed. Back-to-back meetings, emails at night and on weekends, juggling family needs and professional demands. It was exhausting work, but it was also highly rewarding. I'd go to bed each night amazed at how much I'd accomplished. I felt proud for being recognized for being able to "balance it all" and making it look easy.

The problem? I'm still running at that speed, even though the race is over.

After leaving corporate life, I made the concious decision to transition into work that genuinely engages me. I started spending time consulting while at the same time launching Booming Encore with the goal of helping others find later-life purpose, passion, and joy. I believed I finally had the freedom to manage my own time, set my own schedule and live by my own priorities.

But something unexpected happened. Instead of feeling liberated by this newfound flexibility, I found myself scrambling to fill every available space. If my days weren't packed to the maximum, I felt like I was wasting time. With my family responsibilities now pretty much eliminated and no one else's timelines demanding my attention, I discovered I'd become the person driving the pace and I was driving myself just as hard as any corporation ever had.

When Binge-Watching Felt Like Failure

Here's an example. Just the other day, I sat down and watched a few episodes of a series I'd been wanting to see. It was enjoyable. I was relaxed. And then the guilt hit.

Half a day, gone. What did I accomplish? Nothing. What did I cross off my list? Nothing. I'd just... wasted time. In that moment, all I could think was: I should have been doing something more worthwhile than watching television.

And then there's the other layer of guilt - the research I know all too well. Watching television for more than 3.5 hours per day is associated with a dose-response decline in verbal memory over six years. Each additional hour of television viewing in middle age increased risk for developing Alzheimer's disease by 1.3 times.

So not only was I "wasting" productive time, I was potentially harming my cognitive health. Double guilt.

But here's the question I couldn't answer: more worthwhile than what? Than enjoying something I wanted to watch? Than resting? Than simply being? And was a few hours really going to cause cognitive decline, or was I catastrophizing?

TV has always been my end-of-day way to relax, a reward after a productive day. But watching it during the day felt wrong, like I hadn't earned it yet. Like I was cheating somehow.

The Treadmill I Can't Step Off

I've come to realize I'm running on a treadmill - one that was initially jointly created between myself and my corporate responsibilities. The corporation often set the speed, but I was the one who accepted it. Sometimes I even increased it, pushing myself harder, doing more, proving I could handle it all.

The thing about treadmills is they keep moving until you turn them off. And even after I left the corporate world, even after I gained control of my own schedule, the treadmill kept running. I just kept running on it because I didn't know how to stop.

The only time I ever gave myself permission to slow down was when I was sick because my body forced me off the treadmill entirely. Otherwise, rest had to be earned through productivity. Relaxation was a reward for accomplishment, not something I deserved simply because I'm human and humans need rest.

What Actually Makes a Good Day?

Here's what's strange: I can identify what a balanced day feels like. Recently, I had one. I spent the morning writing an article - not because it was on a list but because the topic felt compelling to me. I then engaged with some people on social media, met a friend for lunch, went for a walk, had a nice dinner and caught up with my kids, watched a little TV, and went to bed feeling satisfied.

It was a good day. A little work, a little fun, a little fitness, a little family. It felt balanced.

So why did the day I watched TV during the day feel so different? Both days included television. Both days included things I enjoyed. The difference was that one day checked enough boxes that I gave myself permission to relax. The other day, I relaxed first and then couldn't forgive myself for it.

The Contradiction I'm Living

Here's the irony that's not lost on me: I've spent years writing about the importance of experiences, about the memory dividend, about being present. I work in a field dedicated to helping people find purpose, passion, and joy in later life.

And yet I can't watch a TV series during the day without feeling guilty.

I know my time is limited. I've watched too many friends leave this world earlier than expected. I understand viscerally that our days are finite and precious. But instead of using that awareness to give myself permission to savor moments, I'm using it to pressure myself to accomplish more, to pack in more, to justify every hour.

It's as if I've confused "making the most of limited time" with "being productive every moment." As if the treadmill speed is the measure of a life well-lived rather than what's actually experienced along the way.

Learning to Slow the Treadmill

As I shift from full-time work into semi-retirement, I'm trying to rebalance my expectations. I want to spend more time traveling, meeting with friends, writing because I love to write. Not because it's on a list or produces a measurable outcome. I want to do these things without the pressure, without the constant internal audit of whether I'm using my time "correctly."

But I'm discovering that slowing down is harder than I expected. The treadmill doesn't have an off switch - it has a dial. And I need to learn how to turn down the speed without feeling like I'm failing.

I need to learn that rest isn't something I earn through productivity. That a day spent enjoying something isn't a day wasted. That watching a series I want to watch is actually a perfectly valid use of my limited, precious time. That being present and relaxed and unproductive might actually be the point.

In the corporate world, my value was measured by output and that accomplishment was the metric that mattered. Those lessons served me well for 28 years. They helped me build a career, provide for my family, and develop skills and discipline that continue to benefit me.

But I'm in a different season now. And I need different metrics.

Redefining What Counts

I'm slowly learning to ask myself different questions at the end of the day:

Not "What did I accomplish?" but "Was I present?"

Not "What did I cross off my list?" but "Did I do something that brought me joy?"

Not "Was I productive enough?" but "Did I live today, or just get through it?"

I'm trying to give myself permission to slow down the treadmill without guilt. To recognize that the speed I maintained for nearly three decades was appropriate for that phase of my life, but it doesn't have to be my default setting forever.

I'm learning that slowing down isn't the same as wasting time. That rest is not laziness. That enjoying a few episodes of a series during the day doesn't make me less valuable as a person.

I'm trying to extend to myself the same grace I'd extend to anyone else. The understanding that we're human beings, not human doings, and that our worth isn't measured by our output.

It's uncomfortable work, this unlearning. The guilt still shows up. The internal voice still asks what I accomplished today and the treadmill still calls.

But I'm learning to turn down the speed. To step off occasionally without shame and to measure my days by presence instead of productivity.

And maybe, eventually, to watch TV during the day without feeling like I've failed.

Because if my time truly is limited and precious, maybe the real waste isn't in resting - it's in spending it running on a treadmill I no longer need.