Off the Clock, On the Sand: What a Real Break Taught Me

I discovered that finishing a beach run takes ages longer than a trail run because you can SEE the finish for a mile.

I went to the beach with my family this month and I didn’t bring my laptop.

That might sound small, but for me, it was a big deal. It was the first real break I’ve taken in more than three years. No deadlines hovering, no guilt about checking Slack just one more time, no inbox piling up while I pretended to be off. Just the beach, my kids, a lot of snacks, and a surprising amount of sand in my shoes—except I forgot my most important shoes. We’ll get to that.

When Rest Isn’t Just Allowed It’s Expected

I’m just over 90 days into a new job, and one of the things that has surprised me most is how well it’s set up for people to actually take time off—and not just technically take it, but truly unplug.

At my last job, I had teammates across time zones from California to Eastern Europe. I didn’t always worked outside of regular hours, but when you’re on a team like that, messages can come in anytime, and it’s always a bit of a toss-up what you’ll wake up to. People took time off but when the company doesn’t observe shared holidays, you’re often off while the rest of the team isn’t, which means you come back to a pile of updates or missed momentum.

This time, it was different. We have designated holidays (including Juneteenth, when I took the trip), summer half-day Fridays, and clear boundaries around time zones. When I left, I knew most of the company would be offline too. I came back to… maybe two Slack messages. Both kind, both marked “not urgent.” That kind of silence creates space.

And that space made it possible for me to fully dive into the chaos and joy of traveling with young kids.

Sunscreen, Snacks, and Tiny Discoveries

We brought our two-year-old daughter and four-and-a-half-year-old son with us to Oak Island. Which means we also brought meltdowns, late bedtimes, sooooo much sun screen, and a shared hotel room where bedtime felt like a hostage negotiation.

But also wonder.

Our daughter saw stars for the first time. One night she stayed up late and looked up, stunned. “Uh-oh, sun bye-bye,” she whispered. We explained that the sun was sleeping and the stars were out now. Since then, she’s started each day by announcing, “Stars bye-bye, sun awake,” as if she’s narrating a cosmic shift.

Our son was determined to find the biggest shells on the beach, and he succeeded. We brought home quite the collection. His sister, meanwhile, was equally convinced that every shell was a rock. You could show her the the difference a hundred times. It was still a rock.

They poked around crab holes, watched the tide roll in, built small cities of sand, and laughed. We had our share of tears and potty emergencies, but I wouldn’t trade any of it.

Running Toward (and Away From) the Ocean

I forgot my running shoes.

I’d been excited to run along the ocean, and I figured, hey, I’ll just go barefoot. It felt poetic at the time.

The beach disagreed. I got a friction blister on my toe during that first run—painful enough that I had to take the next day off. But after some rest, I laced up my regular shoes (not ideal, but they’d do), and on our last day, I got one more run in. This time, it went great.

There’s something about running without music, just listening to the waves and feeling the wind off the water. Even that first run forced me to slow down and be present. Every step in the sand reminded me: you’re here now.

A Break That Actually Broke Through

I came back with a calm I haven’t had in a long time. That’s what real time off does—it doesn’t just recharge you, it reshapes you a little.

There was no pressure to be “on.” No digital static. Just the sound of my kids squealing at waves, the feel of sun, the rhythm of a beach run, the slow stretch of days that didn’t need to be optimized.

I didn’t come back caught up. I came back grounded.

Closing the Laptop, Opening the World

I don’t know if I’ll ever be someone who always takes breaks well. I’m still unlearning years of internalized hustle, still resisting the urge to check in, still figuring out how to be offline. But I do know this: leaving my laptop behind made space for a thousand tiny, beautiful moments I would’ve missed.

My kids won’t remember every detail of this trip. But they’ll remember we were together. And so will I.