Six Questions to Write on the Last Afternoon Before Your Leave

If you did not turn up to work tomorrow, what would go wrong first?

I asked myself that at ten to five on a Thursday, sitting behind the counter of a small print shop. The laser printer behind me was still warm, the smell of toner rising with each sheet into the tray, and on the desk was the handover note I was writing, already onto its third page. Tomorrow I would start a week of leave, my first in two years, and the only thing I had managed since morning was to worry.

Maybe you have sat like this on your own last afternoon, three tasks half done and a list that keeps growing. This is six questions to write, running from the jobs that need handing over to whatever lies beneath the whole list. Written for you alone, on paper, nobody reading.

It is not a template for handing over work, and it is not a way of finding a reason to rest without feeling guilty. A handover note is another thing, written for the person receiving it. These six are written for the person about to leave, so that walking out the door you know what you are carrying with you.

The first three: which jobs are really in my hands

Ten to five. Tú, the shop's newest hire, stands beside the paper cutter holding a stack of business cards not yet trimmed.

— The order for the flower shop, how should I do it tomorrow?

— It is in the handover note, page two.

— Okay, but… what if the customer changes their mind?

I could answer that, and then one more, and then one more, and the handover became three pages of small type. Tú stood there nodding, the stack of cards still in his hands.

The easiest reading is that I was worried everything would fall apart without me. Maybe so. But if you stop there, the only option left is to write a longer handover.

Underneath is something else. My handover was long because I had not yet separated two kinds of work: what truly needs me, and what I am simply used to being present for. On paper the two look alike, so I wrote both down, and Tú received a list in which every line seemed equally important.

The first three questions are for pulling those two apart.

Which job am I holding that could actually be handed over?

Hint: Write down three jobs, then cross out one that no one will ask about this week. Do not hunt for the job that "should" go, only note the one that could.

If I am gone a week, what will really break, and what will break only in my head?

Hint: Use two columns if you like. The first column is short, usually shorter than you expected.

In what way am I afraid others will do it wrong, and is my way the only way?

Hint: One concrete example is enough, say how I trim the margin of a business card. Once written, ask again: would a customer notice the difference?

You know you wrote it right when an underlined line makes you pause slightly, as if you have found something you did not know you knew. The first time, many people find writing for themselves harder than writing for a colleague, the pen keeps sliding into instruction mode. That is fine, let it slide, then return to the question. After a week, some people find their next handover is shorter, and some find it as long as before but now know which pages are theirs and which are Tú's. Mine was the second kind.

On a day with only ten minutes, write just the second question, and give it two minutes.

The easiest way to wreck this exercise is to turn the six questions into a second handover note. I finished the first question and caught myself numbering the jobs, adding bullet points, formatting in bold and plain. It is tempting because it is familiar, and because a tidy list feels like you have done something. But then the question becomes procedure, and procedure has no room for me. Instead, write in ordinary sentences, the way you would write a letter to someone close. If you notice yourself bulleting, put the pen down for a breath.

The last three: what lies beneath the list

My fear of being replaced talks to my wish to rest.

— What if the whole week without me goes fine?

— Then it goes fine.

— And then what am I for?

That conversation went on in my head at twenty to six, when half the shop lights were off and the sound of a customer's motorbike stopping for a last pickup drifted in. I sat still, my hand resting on the shop key.

The easiest reading: I find it hard to rest because I am careful, because I am responsible. It sounds right, and it is also what people tend to say about me.

There is one more layer below that, and it is not bad, just hard to say. Maybe I find it hard to leave not because the work needs me but because I like feeling needed. That feeling has fed me for two years, and taking leave means finding out whether I am still me when nobody needs me.

The last three questions touch that layer, so I kept them a little lighter than the first three.

What have I done well in the last three months that nobody has mentioned?

Hint: It can be very small, like how I stack the paper trays by size so the next person does not have to search. Write it down and thank it in a sentence.

What do I want this leave to be, rather than what do I want to do in it?

Hint: Pick one word, say quiet, slow, empty, plain. Then write why that word.

On the day I return, what sentence do I want to walk into work with?

Hint: One sentence, not one task. For example: I am back and I am not in a hurry. Do not write a plan, only the sentence.

The first time, I finished the fifth question with slightly stinging eyes and still did not know why. After the week of leave, some people find the slip makes them lighter on return, and some open it and find it as strange as someone else's handwriting. The day I came back I opened it and found exactly one sentence: I am back and I am not in a hurry. I was in a hurry by the first morning, but I remembered that the sentence existed.

On a day with no time, write only the last question, in one minute.

The easiest place to slip in the second half is writing a line that is too pretty. I tried I return with fresh energy and realized it read like a poster. It is tempting because it sounds positive, and because everyone wants to believe they will return like that. But a sentence I do not believe will not hold me. Write a smaller, truer one, even if it does not sound nice.

If nothing will come out when you write

There are two common reasons.

The first: the page is blank and you sit staring at it. Do not force it. Write one very small line, like I do not know what to write yet, and carry on from there. Or say the question aloud to yourself while washing your hands. Many people find speaking easier than writing, and some the reverse.

The second: at your workplace nobody really can cover for you, and leave makes you worry for real, not just in your head. Then the question is no longer about writing but about workload, or about whether you are able to take leave at all. Speak to whoever assigns your work, or ask the department responsible about your right to leave. And if you feel tired, low or anxious for weeks on end, talk to someone with professional training.

If you often find it hard to rest without guilt, permitting yourself to rest without guilt speaks to exactly that, and cleaning your desk at the end of the day is a small hands-on task you can do right before you go.

On your last afternoon before leave, before switching off the computer, try opening a blank page.

Then write the first question.

This article was created with AI assistance.