The Cost of Always Being On
Last Saturday, I did something unusual for me: I stopped.
I didn’t mean to. It just happened. The day unfolded with no big agenda. I met a friend at the dog park in the morning. I came home and napped in the afternoon. That evening, my husband and I went to see a scary movie — The Conjuring: Last Rites — where I clutched his hand through every jump scare and let out one very real, very loud scream. Later, I poured a bourbon, settled onto the deck, and listened to Norah Jones while the sky faded from blue to black.
It sounds ordinary. And maybe that’s the point. It was one of the best days I’ve had in months.
Always On, Always Available
The truth is, most of us are always on. For me, it’s a natural side effect of being a CIO. There’s always another meeting, another decision, another email demanding attention. Even when the calendar ends, my mind doesn’t. It runs in the background, like an app I forgot to close.
Maybe you know that feeling. Your title might not be “Vice President,” but you’re the person people rely on. You carry invisible weight. You’re the one who gets the text, the call, the “quick question” that really isn’t.
At some point, “available” starts to blur into “exhausted.”
The Value of Pausing
Here’s the irony: presence doesn’t come from being always available. It comes from pausing. That Saturday reminded me that the quiet moments are the ones that refill the well.
Being fully present with a friend at the dog park meant I wasn’t half-scrolling through email. Screaming in a movie theater (loud enough to make my husband laugh) meant I wasn’t trapped in a running mental checklist. Sitting on the deck with bourbon, dogs at my feet, and music in the background gave me something a full week of productivity never does: peace.
Why It Matters in Leadership
In leadership, we like to glorify “hustle.” We tell ourselves presence means showing up to every meeting, responding quickly, stretching our calendars tighter. But I’ve learned — sometimes the hard way — that people don’t remember how fast you replied to their email. They remember if you looked them in the eye and actually listened.
We can’t do that if we’re depleted. We can’t bring clarity if our heads are clouded. Leadership presence doesn’t come from doing more. It comes from knowing when to stop.
The Practice of Stopping
Stopping doesn’t happen by accident very often. It usually takes intention. That’s the hard part.
So here’s what I’m experimenting with:
Micro-pauses. A walk outside between meetings, five minutes with no phone, a deep breath before answering.
Clear boundaries. Reminding myself (and others) that email isn’t a fire alarm. It can wait.
Simple joys. A scary movie. A bourbon on the deck. A nap without guilt.
These aren’t luxuries. They’re fuel. Without them, the cost of being always on shows up as stress, irritability, and missed opportunities to connect. With them, I lead better, think clearer, and actually enjoy the work more.
Your Turn
Here’s my invitation: notice one place this week where you could stop. Not forever, not dramatically. Just for a moment.
Turn off the notifications. Take a walk without your phone. Close your laptop at a reasonable hour. Pour something into a glass and sit on your deck or couch without an agenda.
See what happens when you’re not “on.”
You might just find, like I did, that presence isn’t about availability. It’s about attention. And sometimes, the most powerful thing you can give your work — and yourself — is the gift of stopping.