Taking My Computer Away
Last Saturday, I asked my family to take away my work computer for the day. This weekend, I’m asking them to take it away for two. This wasn’t a dramatic gesture or a reset plan. It was a practical request, grounded in knowing myself. Over the past couple of weeks, I haven’t spent fewer than twelve hours a day on my computer. Yesterday, it was sixteen.
This isn’t unusual for me. When something catches, it really catches. I don’t skim the surface or dabble for long. I go deep. Hours compress. Curiosity stacks. Each solved thing reveals three more that suddenly feel urgent and possible. It’s how I’ve always worked, and when it’s good, it’s exhilarating.
And it’s not just time spent. It’s how alive the time feels. I’m trying things I’ve wanted to try for years and never had space for. I finally learned how to customize a Microsoft Dev Box, something that had been sitting on my mental backlog forever. That quickly turned into building a push‑button data experiment environment, with all my tools in place and the right artifacts standardized. I’m scripting more than I have in ages. I’m writing explanations for things that are completely clear in my head and brand new to someone else. Every small win sparks the urge to do just one more thing.
The problem isn’t that I’m tired or burned out. It’s that everything else quietly starts to fall away. The linen closet still needs to be cleaned. The puppy still wants to play. Time that should be unstructured and ordinary gets absorbed by the glow of the next idea. Even when I switch to my personal laptop for something practical, like doing taxes, the temptation to try just one more thing with real data is right there. Left alone, the computer always wins.
I’ve learned not to rely on willpower in moments like this. When my curiosity is this awake, self‑regulation turns into a negotiation I always lose. I don’t drift away from the computer; I orbit it. So instead of pretending I’ll stop at a reasonable point, I ask for help. I ask the people who live with me to create a boundary I won’t create for myself. Not because I don’t love the work, but because I do.
So this weekend, I’m asking to be stopped. I’m choosing the linen closet and the puppy and the quiet, ordinary things that only happen if I’m actually there for them. I’m also planning to pull out my crochet, another thing I dove into head first, and work on a dress for my daughter for a graduation that’s only three months away. I’m choosing to let my hands be busy in ways that don’t compound. The work will still be waiting when I come back to it. This is how I make sure I do.
This isn’t me stepping away because the work is unhealthy or unsustainable. It’s me protecting it by not letting it take everything else with it. I know I’ll come back to the computer eager, not depleted. Curious, not frantic. Taking my computer away isn’t a rejection of this season. It’s how I make room to stay in it.
Alison + Wiggins
What a beautiful article!