Nothing happened.

Today is one of those days where it feels like it’ll never get fully light out. It’s how I imagine Alaska, but I’m in Cleveland. A light rain was already soaking everything when we woke up. The yard I mowed at dusk 12 hours ago has broken out in a rash of new leaves. Beanies are back in the rotation with my ball caps. The Browns are 4-3. And I just came to the realization that my golf season is over.

Technically, it ended four days ago on my birthday. Here’s a gratuitous pic of what turned out to be my best drive of the day.

(Editor’s note: I made 5)

While I could easily bore you with a highly detailed description of all 89 strokes I took on Monday, the reality is it was a round where nothing really happened. Aside from one other addict who was practicing 3-footers on the putting green in the light mist I was all alone on the course. Making neither a birdie nor a triple I walked across soggy fairways and furry greens playing in-lock step with my handicap.

Eight miles west of me it was a normal Monday. The weekly staff meeting. Gallons of coffee being consumed. Emails, Slacks and Teams flying around. And, as I scrolled through the mess as I walked off 18 and to my car it hit me that nothing really happened. Projects progressed. Jobs were routed. Final art was released. And while I knew my Tuesday was going to be a little bit more intense, nothing required my immediate attention.

Last year I let six-and-a-half PTO days expire. Partially because the pandemic made it a weird year and I’m sure latently because I have that hard-working American guilt about unplugging.

And, while I’m no LinkedIn sage I do think there was a lesson in all of this worth sharing. Take that PTO. Go out there and play some golf by yourself or do whatever it is you do and see what happens. If you’re lucky, maybe nothing happens.