Cheap Means Expendable, Which Also Means Less Stress

By Ariella Gintzler

I was five miles into an eight-mile run, cruising along a sandy, winding trail down a ridge high above Santa Fe, when I yard-saled. I don’t remember what I tripped over. But I do remember landing belly down in the dirt, with my hat and sunglasses ten feet away in opposite directions. I was fine; my sunglasses, however, were toast. Thankfully, they’d only cost me $25.

I have expensive taste when it comes to gear: My choice sports bra is over $70. My preferred winter puffy is $300. My favorite running shoes are nearly $200. But sunglasses are an exception. This has to do with the fact that I am both a klutz and can be a tad absentminded when enjoying my surroundings outdoors. Proper care and cleaning only get me so far, because inevitably I drop my sunglasses. Or I stuff them, caseless, into my pocket. I fall and launch them into the dirt. I forget they’re perched above my hat brim and then send them flying when I remove my cap. In an effort to be mindful, I carefully set them to the side during a trail break, only to sit on them or thwack them with the butt of my backpack while digging for trail mix.

Sure, when it comes to specialty eyewear for specific sports (like goggles for skiing or an endurance shield for road biking), I still rock the pricey stuff. But for everyday use on runs, hikes, and travel days, I’m perfectly happy with the cheap stuff. Actually, I’m happier, because I can enjoy myself without constantly worrying about ruining the most delicate and accident-prone part of my kit. Does a $25 pair of shades provide the sharp optics of a $100 or $150 pair? No. But I’m more than willing to make that sacrifice for some peace of mind.

Expensive Sunnies Offer Exceptional Protection, Optics, and Style

By Will Taylor

As a surfer, cyclist, river rafter, trail runner, and all-around gear tester, I’ve tried just about every variety of sunglasses out there, at the full run of price points. And while I’ve lost some to the bottom of the Pacific, broken others in bike wrecks, and scratched still others beyond any serviceable utility, I remain in favor of spending the money on shades. With apologies to ZZ Top, life’s too short for cheap sunglasses. Quality eyewear is essential outdoor equipment, protecting one of the most important parts of your body, and it makes life under the sun more enjoyable.

UV-blocking and shatter-resistance ratings are usually impressive with higher-end offerings, so you’re treating your eyes better. And because superior hardware is used on expensive models, they last longer than the convenience-store options. And I don’t baby them: I tend to use a single pair for everything I do outside, nor am I concerned about wiping them down with a T-shirt or dropping them in the dirt or the drink. I also admit that I’m vain; I like good-looking shades, and when you spend more, a bump in steez is generally part of the deal. But what you’re really after is excellent optics. Gazing across the ocean or a whitewater rapid through an outstanding pair of polarized specs is alone worth the investment. What’s that old saying? Oh yeah: you get what you pay for. That’s certainly true of eyewear.

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When I saw an old Griswold cast-iron skillet and lid at an estate sale in Santa Fe last summer, I didn’t quite know what to do. For a few minutes, I stood there like a log stuck in an eddy, running my hands over the robin’s-egg blue enamel. Customers jostled around me, headed for a table of crystal decanters. Did no one notice what I had just found? Someone notice!

I knew Griswold was a sought-after name in vintage cast iron, a product of the early 1900s, back when things were made to last and before manufacturing was on an accelerated trend of faster and cheaper. But was this set worth $75? The non-enameled interior was rusty, the bottom scorched and chipped. Unsure whether I’d found an heirloom or an unusable waste of money, I wandered around for an hour with the skillet clutched to my chest like a carnival prize. Finally, I walked over to the register and paid. Several weeks later I found out it was worth upward of $1,000.

My journey to cast-iron obsession began at a Target in 2016. I was 24, working a hodgepodge of mountain-town jobs to afford the one-bedroom apartment my boyfriend and I had just rented. On our way to the checkout with a cartful of cheap housewares, I detoured to the Lodge display and grabbed a . It cost $25. If we were going to spend all this money outfitting our first grown-up place, I reasoned, we really ought to get a piece of cast iron. What could be more simultaneously gourmet and dirtbag-friendly than that?

For years the skillet lived on the top-right burner of our stove, getting the level of care and attention most people bestow on a pet. I diligently cooked bacon in it once a month to build up a solid layer of polymerized and carbonized fat, known as seasoning, that gives cast iron its nonstick properties. I made sizzling, restaurant-style fajitas. I baked fluffy corn bread. I was filled with pride every time a fried egg slid out on its own, with no shove from a spatula.

But my attachment to cast-iron cooking went beyond the merely culinary. More than anything, I clung to it as a token of permanence. At my age, everything—jobs, friends, homes, even my identity—felt like it was shifting. In the absence of physical roots, cast iron was something I could invest in, and in doing so preserve a bit of who I was at that moment in time.

It’s no surprise that outdoorsy people like me tend to gravitate toward cast iron. Not only is it durable and affordable, but it’s also a workhorse of wilderness cooking. Picture a classic cowboy breakfast and you probably imagine two eggs and a few strips of bacon frying in a glossy iron skillet over a bed of coals, maybe some grits boiling in a heavy iron pot perched above an open flame.

And there’s a reason cast iron is considered one of the best materials for outdoor cooking: reliable heat. “Aluminum is subject to whatever heat is coming out of your stove or fire,” says Stephen Muscarella, cofounder of the cast-iron brand Field Company. But once cast iron gets hot, it maintains a consistent temperature across the entire surface of the pot or pan.

That’s a valuable trait when what you’re cooking involves a grill, open fire, hearth, woodstove, or burner—all tricky heat sources prone to fluctuation. The result is unbeatable crust on bread and flavorful char on meat and vegetables. These qualities make cast iron one of the few camping amenities also prized by professional chefs and home gourmets, because it produces flavors and textures that no other material can match.

In addition to being a superior way to prepare many types of food, cast-iron cooking is also among the oldest. Cast-iron cookware, which dates back centuries, became popular in Europe and North America in the mid-1800s. For decades it was the dominant method of cooking in the U.S.—until lighter, cheaper aluminum pans and then chemical nonstick coatings came along in the 1950s.

That popularity is no surprise, though it takes commitment to maintain the layer of seasoning cast iron is famous for. “Cast iron is about building skills and knowledge,” Muscarella says, “learning how to use a tool.” For many, especially outdoor enthusiasts and gearheads, that’s part of the draw. Anyone who takes pride in waxing their skis or tuning their bike understands implicitly.

There’s a buzzword in the gear world: durability. We prize it. Yet modern attempts to manufacture equipment that lasts pale in comparison with the timeless endurance of cast-iron cookware. Even the most durable nylon shell jacket eventually gets holes or loses its DWR coating. And the pieces that survive fade from use as better technologies render them outmoded. On the other hand, a piece of cast iron lasts generations and never goes out of vogue. Collectors still seek pre-1950s pans from brands that have long since disappeared, like Griswold, and not just for the novelty value.

Few other pieces of gear possess this truest and most unique form of resilience: not only the strength to resist failure, but the ability to withstand it. The only way to really ruin cast-iron cookware is to drop and break it, or to crack it with ice-cold water when it’s hot. Accidentally wash the pan with soap? Cook something too acidic, eroding the seasoning? No problem. You can always rebuild. Unlike broken zippers and split seams, which require special equipment and deft skills to repair, a rusty 80-year-old cast-iron pan needs only a couple of hours and a little elbow grease to rehab.

Within weeks of finding that Griswold, I got on the phone with , who refurbishes and sells vintage cookware to an Instagram following of 24,000-plus, including professional chefs like Gordon Ramsay. It’s Seip who told me how much my find was worth, and he walked me through the process of scrubbing it with steel wool and kosher salt to clean up rust and gunk.

After that, to restore the seasoning, all you need is heat, a drop of vegetable or flaxseed oil, and a few minutes back on the burner to make the fat polymerize into a tacky, protective film. Then: start cooking. The best way to nurture a nonstick coating is through regular use. As you use your pan, impurities in the oil and food residue carbonize, making the seasoning durable.

It’s a comforting concept: strength through repetition. Few things in life are so tough and so easily maintained—always there yet always changing, easy to make new again and again.

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There’s nothing quite like leaving the office on Friday evening, jumping into a car with all your gear, and heading out for a weekend in the woods. In theory, camping trips are simple. You don’t need much, and you can keep most of your regular kit packed and ready to go.

In practice, however, getting away is rarely simple. You have to figure out where to camp, what the fees and regulations are, and what the weather will be like, among other concerns. Thankfully, there are apps for that. Here are a few of our favorites.

The Best Camping Apps for an şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř Assist

Best For Finding a Designated Campsite: Recreation.gov

This go-to app has an exhaustive database of campgrounds around the country, from RV to tent sites. Just plug in the area you’re visiting and your arrival and departure dates, and the app produces a map with pins denoting nearby campsites. (You can manually select specific towns or cities or use location tracking to auto-populate sites in the surrounding area. The app chooses a mileage radius, which is not adjustable.) Blue pins signify available campsites, and yellow pins mark campsites that are booked. You can call an agent or make a reservation online from within the app.

Best For Boondocking Beta: Campendium

Camping for free is great but often involves a lot of shooting in the dark. It’s easy to pick a national forest or tract of BLM land on a map, but you never really know what you’re going to find. Campendium makes the process a bit easier. The app’s database includes information about cell service, site size, and amenities like toilets or RV hookups. You can also filter destinations by elevation, get detailed trail maps, and more. The comments section is a cache of more specific information based on people’s experiences staying at each site—like whether there’s space to turn around a large vehicle, if the road is in good condition, or whether you’ll experience crowds.

Best for Weather Reports: MyRadar

How many times have you seen rain in the forecast and packed up camp, only for it to merely drizzle? Or chosen an exposed campsite for the beautiful views and been rocked all night by heavy wind? MyRadar provides detailed weather data to help you avoid such trip-ruining mishaps. Like other weather apps, it gives you an hourly and weekly forecast, but it also shows you the direction, speed, and severity of impending storms, wind, temperature swings, wildfires, and even earthquakes through an interactive map. (You can turn all these filters on or off as needed, like if, say, you’re not camping on an active fault line.) A $7 upgrade gets you access to detailed information from 150-plus individual radar sites that provide the aggregated satellite weather reading. That upgrade also gets you ad-free app usage, Apple Watch compatibility, and a hurricane tracker.

Best for Staying Organized: PackPoint

Between the camp kitchen, food, hiking gear, fishing gear, bikes, and first-aid kit, there’s a lot of equipment to keep track of when prepping for a camping trip. Enter PackPoint, which lets you create different lists for certain types of trips—like separate “camping ” and “hut trip” lists—and then populate each with activities or categories such as food, clothing, and toiletries. Add items to each, specify a quantity (three pairs of socks, two six-packs), and then click the check box once the item is accounted for. The app is free, but upgrading to the premium version ($3 per year) let’s you share your list with others, sync across your devices, and further customize your lists (great for type-A packers).

Best for Stargazing: Night Sky

Outsource constellation-remembering duties to this app (no, not you, Siri). Use your phone’s compass to line up the screen with what you’re looking at in real life—be it a star, planet, or satellite—then click on each constellation for a mini astronomy lesson. Night Sky can also help you search for a specific constellation. Nightly stargazing reports tell you what will be visible that evening and (also key) where to find a spot with minimal light pollution for optimal viewing. The app is free, but $2 per month gets you augmented-reality tours of planets and moons.

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It’s hard to get excited about socks. Despite all the marketing hoopla about strategically placed cushioning and support panels, most pairs wind up feeling the same. And by the end of a long day, even the best are usually just smelly, damp, and stretched out. ($27) is one of the first to grab our attention.

Also available in quarter-crew ($24) and crew heights, the Flite XT Trail boasts a host of features that amount to the best-fitting, most resilient sock we’ve ever put on our feet. For starters, there’s the synthetic fiber, called olefin, that spans the sole; it’s hydrophobic and thus promotes incredibly fast wicking. Then there are the toe and heel portions, which are lightly padded with polyester-olefin nanofibers that grip the inside of your shoe to prevent your foot from moving around and thus reduce the chance of friction blisters.

All these features have popped up in socks from Swiftwick and other brands over the years. But here, the brand has combined them all with a merino-nylon fabric that confers natural anti-odor properties and is perfectly tuned to stay put and hold shape, even when wet, without feeling too tight. Credit just the right amount of compression around the midfoot and a strong elastic added in around the ankle. Neither of these things is groundbreaking; Swiftwick simply nails the balance between compression and comfort. Five testers wore the Flite XT Trail for four days through the hot, humid, muddy, river-filled Panamanian jungle. Our feet oscillated between damp and soaked (rarely dry); still, the Flite XT Trail held its shape and remained comfortably snug—no drooping, no bunching, no blisters, and no pinching from too-tight cuffs. In other words, this is a high-tech sock for daily running and hiking.

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Sports bras have vastly improved over the past decade. But for anyone whose body falls outside the narrow set of industry sizing standards, fit is still a challenge. Many wind up buying bras that are either painfully tight or too loose without enough support.

Lume Six is out to change that. In 2021, the fledgling brand debuted the ($100) and the ($120), both of which are available in extended sizing. Pick a cup size between XS and XL (XXL and 3XL coming later in 2022). Then choose the matching band—or one band smaller or larger. Testers with 34C and 30D chests found medium-medium and small-small worked best, while a 32B tester with muscular lats preferred a medium bra with a small band.

But there’s more to love than just the broad range in sizing. Rather than using removable inserts that bunch up in the wash and get thrown away, all Lume Six bras are offered in two versions: unlined or with thin sewn-in padding. Most important, there’s the fabric. Many sports bras are made with elastane-blend knits, which are naturally stretchy, with nylon added for durability. The Alta and Cirra use a woven exterior fabric. Weaves are inherently more structured, enabling designers to use elastane blended with less-durable but better-wicking polyester, resulting in a thinner, lighter fabrication and construction. The outcome: an unobtrusive, crazy-breathable sports bra that’s still supportive. Welded seams and lie-flat (non-adjustable) straps are icing.

Notably, the Alta and Cirrus are not as supple as other bras. “The lack of stretch meant that some extra fabric bunched in the under-boob area,” said our 32B tester. She wondered if an extra-small bra with a medium band would have helped. But the surplus fabric didn’t stop her from wearing her Alta for five days straight during a testing trip in Panama that alternated between misty and sweltering—the perfect incubator for swampy-sports-bra-induced misery. “It was comfortable enough to sleep in, with no rubbing seams or digging straps,” she said. It also dried completely within an hour of an impromptu river bath. Group consensus: this is among the lightest, fastest-drying, most forget-you’re-wearing-it-comfortable bras we’ve encountered.

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Spandex short shorts might seem simple, but they are surprisingly hard to nail. Most runners have stories of hems that ride up, fabric that bunches, and waistbands that squeeze.

Indura Athletic offers an alternative. Founder Abby Drach, a 25-year-old cross-country ski racer, has set out to create active apparel for muscular bodies—the kind of clothing she and her teammates had always wanted. To that end, the brand’s five-inch ($58) boast an innovative cut designed with sizable quads and glutes in mind. First, there’s the graduated hem, which is shorter on the outside and longer on the inside of the leg. This prevents inner-thigh chafing and keeps the bottom hem from creeping crotchward. Drach also fortified each leg opening with a strip of rubbery dots, which cling to your skin to keep everything in place, like the grip pads on a bike chamois. “They never rode up,” said one tester after a day carrying a 30-plus-pound pack on steep Panamanian jungle terrain that required repeated high steps. “Usually I’m self-conscious in short shorts, but in these I felt comfortable and covered, even with our guides behind me.”

A wide, flat waistband, made from the same highly compressive nylon-spandex blend as the rest of the shorts, also stays in place without squeezing. Plus, you can choose a standard high rise or a curved midrise that swoops low on the stomach but remains high-cut across the back. The latter is perfect for those who prefer a lower rise but don’t want to sacrifice butt coverage.

The only downside: the fabric is slightly thicker than your average tights, and some testers found it prone to soaking through in high-sweat areas. Upside: it’s not see-through when you bend over. It’s also more durable, and it held up to several brushy hikes and trail runs without a snag.

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Norrøna Short Tights Shorts ($89)

Long spandex shorts are great for runners who tend to chafe or just want extra protection. Luckily, this five-inch pair is made from a nylon-elastane blend that’s incredibly light and not too compressive (read: you won’t feel like a sausage casing when they’re on). Plus, it has a rear pocket that easily fits a whole iPhone without any arm wrestling. (XS–L)

Janji AFO Hyperlight Cap ($38)

Everything about this 29-gram hat screams lightweight, from the ultrabreezy polyester-elastane fabric to the elastic pull cord. It scrunches down to roughly the size of a lemon—though it dissipates sweat so well that you’ll rarely want to take it off.

Oiselle Benjamina Joggers ($98)

Cotton joggers are great for cozying up after a cold winter run. But spring calls for something a little less heavy. Enter the Benjaminas, which are made from a perforated poly-spandex material that is light enough to put on over sweaty legs. The wide flat waistband sits comfortably without pinching, and jeans-style front pockets add around-town functionality for after your run. (XS–3XL)

Sponsor Content
Oakley Re:SubZero ($246)

For the 30th anniversary of Sub Zero, Oakley® launches Re:SubZero, a reinterpretation of the original, lightweight style. Leveraging PhysioMorphic Geometry, which enables eyewear to be designed without limitations, the unique shield lens shape is etched to give it a dual lens aesthetic – reminiscent of the original style. At only 24grams, this style leaves you feeling next to nothing, making it ideal for your everyday run and outdoor training.

Daehlie Sportswear Intensity Tee ($50)

On high-mercury days, silky, cool-feeling fabrics are often more comfortable than soft, buttery ones. That’s where the Intensity fits in. It’s made entirely of a polyester that feels like satin, with perforations across the back and thin mesh under the arms. Even on humid Vermont runs, the shirt stayed dry, and it never clung to moist skin.  (XS–XL)

Mountain Hardwear Shade Lite Shorts ($59)

There’s not much to these three-inch shorts—no liner, no phone pockets, no zippers—and that’s exactly why we love them. They’re just soft, airy polyester with a drawstring waistband and an internal key pouch in the back, in a simple, straight, boxy cut that gives muscular thighs room to move. The result was exactly the kind of light, flowy fit and feel that testers wanted on hot New Mexican and Vermont summer runs. (XS–XL)

Outdoor Research Echo Hoodie ($69)

For chilly summits or exposed runs when sunscreen isn’t enough, we reach for the Echo. The fabric on this thin sun hoodie was updated with 100 percent recycled, anti-odor treated polyester that’s UPF 15–20 depending on the color. It’s thin enough to wear on sweltering days, and held up to a summer of brushy trail runs and rocky summit naps. (XXS–XL)

Tracksmith Twilight Crop Tank ($62)

Road marathoners or ex-trackies who want a race top that’s not as tight or short as a classic singlet: Tracksmith has your answer. Made from a thin and stretchy poly-elastane blend mesh, this slightly loose, cropped racerback tank was what we reached for on those steamy mid-day runs when we wanted to be wearing as little as possible. (XS–XL)

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There’s nothing worse than a bad sports bra: chafing, pinching, too-tight compression, or not enough support. It’s a quick ticket to a miserable workout. Lucky for you, three testers with chests ranging from small (A to C cup) to midsize and large (D to DD cup) spent all summer trying out dozens of new sports bras from brands big and small. We separated the disappointing ones from the great ones to bring you our recommendations for the best sports bras for a wide spectrum of bodies and workouts.

Rabbit EZ ($50)

Best for Low Impact

For yoga, hiking, or traveling, we reach for this spaghetti-strap bra. It’s made from an ultrasoft polyester-spandex knit that feels like pajamas, and thus became a fixture in our gym bags for changing into after a sweaty run or weight session, and a favorite for any day we didn’t want to wear underwire. The thin elastic band and minimal straps are a relief on sweltering days—but they only provide medium support for A and B cups, and the front panel only offers enough coverage for up to a D cup. Still, the buttery fabric was so alluring that even our bustier testers kept pulling this bra out of the pile. (XS–XL)

The North Face Movmynt ($65)

Best for Medium Impact

If you like racerbacks, this is your bra. At first glance, it’s simple: just polyester, nylon, and elastane fabric with a minimally seamed construction. But a few smart features make it stand out. For starters, there are the perforations strategically placed along the front of the band to help dissipate cleavage sweat. There’s also a front phone pocket, which is convenient and surprisingly comfortable, and a small fabric loop on the back of the bottom band for carrying your shirt when you get too hot. “It’s very basic with some nice details, which is pretty much exactly what I want in a bra,” said one D-cup tester. This is a medium-to-high-impact bra for those with A to C cups and a low-to-medium-impact bra for those with D-cup chests and above. (XS–XXL)

Outdoor Voices All-Time ($58)

Best for Doing It All

Sometimes you just want a bra that gets straight to the point: classic design, no features or frills. That’s the All-Time from Outdoor Voices. This racerback is made from a substantial, compressive (but quick-drying!) nylon-elastane blend, with a one-inch band that offers moderate support for D and DD chests without being overkill for As and Bs. It’s also cut slightly low in the front, which lends natural ventilation. Small-chested testers identified this as their running bra of choice, since many other racerbacks have more coverage than an A cup needs. “It felt like the perfect bra,” said one such tester. “So simple and straightforward—and comfy enough for high and low impact.”Larger-chested testers loved it for HIIT, hiking, yoga, and pretty much everything else. (XS–XL)

Oiselle Queen ($72)

Best For High Support

This max-support, high-impact bra has the works: a four-clasp back, adjustable straps, and molded cups that are perforated for ventilation. Yet unlike so many sports bras designed for large chests, the Queen doesn’t feel overwhelming to put on or claustrophobic to wear. Credit the two-inch-wide ribbed elastic band: it hugs your rib cage to provide snug support from below without pinching or digging in, and without full-back coverage. The polyester blend includes a whopping 22 percent spandex for incredible stretch that supports full range of motion, while a no-stretch power-mesh lining keeps your chest in place. One DD tester routinely wore this bra for her morning runs and then went right to her home office without changing—it’s that comfortable. (32–40 C–DD)

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This article is part of şÚÁĎłÔąĎÍř’s Sandal Battle. Vote for your all-time favorite here.

I distinctly recall the first time I heard someone bragging about their tan. It was April during my senior year in college—one of the first warm days after a long, gray Maine winter. As far as one of my classmates was concerned, it may as well have been national Chacos day. She proudly lifted one foot to show me the faint remainder of last year’s strappy tan line. It was time to start building it back up.

At the time, I laughed it off as quirky. Then I got a summer job guiding sea kayaking trips out of a campground on the Maine coast. Within days, I realized that my flimsy Crocs weren’t going to cut it. A typical day might start in the office taking reservations or on the docks carrying boats down to the beach. By 9 A.M., I was on the water for a four-hour paddling tour, which often included a stop to hike around one of the islands. Later that day, if I didn’t have an afternoon tour on the books, I might find myself answering phones or hosing down life jackets. After one week on the job, I drove an hour to the nearest gear shop to buy some Chacos of my own.

Those sandals were pretty much the only shoes I wore that summer. The lugged outsoles kept me upright on the steep seaweed-and-algae-covered docks. The secure strap system prevented my feet from sliding around, so I could shoulder tandem kayaks with confidence. The cushioned midsoles kept my feet happy even when I’d been standing for six hours. Swim, wade, hike, haul—I could put my Chacos on in the morning and not take them off until it was time to rinse away the salt and sand at the end of the day. Then I’d leave them out on the porch to air-dry while I showered and strap them back on to grab dinner in town with friends. By August, I was bragging about my tan lines too.

Don’t get me wrong—I definitely own three pairs of Birkenstocks. After a long run, the feeling of sliding my feet onto well-worn leather footbeds is among the best in this world. And Rainbow sandals will always be first in my pack for bouldering—they’re so light and easy to slide into a crash pad! But when it comes to those summer days when I don’t know exactly what I might encounter, there’s really only one pair of shoes that I want stashed behind the driver’s seat.

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It’s never a good sign when a coworker handpicks you for an assignment about achieving a shorter workday, adding: “It’s because you’re the most stressed-out person I know.” But there was some truth to the superlative, and I knew I wasn’t alone. I jumped at the chance to address a problem that affects many of us. The inspiration: showing that people who clocked a traditional workday (about 8.6 hours) felt less productive and more time crunched than those who worked shorter days. The sweet spot, apparently: 7.6 hours.

Setting boundaries with work has always been a challenge for me. I cut lunch breaks short, stay at my desk past six, bring work stress home and even take it to the trails. For years, I’ve talked gallantly about setting better boundaries like someone pledging to quit smoking; instead, I swept my bad habits under the rug, using my active lifestyle as false proof that actually I was fine. I ski before heading in to the office and run at lunch. I go for evening hikes with friends. Yeah, I work too hard—but it’s not that bad!

The first day of my experiment went smoothly until about 5:25 P.M.—five minutes before I told myself I’d log off. I wasn’t done with several pressing projects. The minutes ticked past: 5:30, then 5:45, then six. I’d try again tomorrow. A week went by like this. I’d start the day full of determination, then finish it stressed out and upset with myself for once again failing at something that seemed so easy.

I spent two more weeks trying to achieve the nirvana of balance I had been told awaited me, but it never happened. On days when I succeeded in working from nine to 5:30, with an hour for lunch, I wound up feeling frazzled instead of productive. Then I’d revert back to my former habits. (Case in point: I’m writing this sentence at 5:26 P.M. on a Friday evening—and I know I won’t be going home in four minutes.)

Grappling with failure came with its own revelations. Horrified by the reality of my relationship with work, I started paying more attention to my focus and stress levels throughout the day. I began to let go of the notion that a fixed schedule—even a progressive one—would solve any of my problems. Instead, I adopted a position of flexibility: I can go for a run and show up at my desk at 9:20 A.M. without panicking, then enjoy more breathing room between meetings and story edits. Has this helped my productivity? Hard to say. But I spend less time feeling anxious about what my day should look like and a little more time listening to what my brain needs. That’s a start.

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