Every year we meet up with friends in Memphis and go to the Beale Street Music Festival (BSMF).  Both the line-up and my capacity to stay awake past midnight get a little weaker with each subsequent trip. But we keep going because we value the time with our friends and quite frankly, Memphis owns a little slice of our souls and we feel compelled to annually pilgrimage back to our adopted second home. We eat too much and sleep too little, but we make great memories. This year was no exception. An incredible brunch, a few bands that surprised me (MisterWives, Star and Micey, Kaleo, and Post Malone. Yes. Post Malone.), and a trendy new store to explore. It’s all amazing! But the deep excitement, the surprise, the wow, of these weekends is starting to wane some. The first year I went to BSMF, in 2011, I was stunned by the crowds, the thumping music, and the seemingly get-it-only-here Pronto Pups corn dogs. There was a thrill and a novelty. It’s not gone, but this place is familiar now. I found the less crowded entrances and where the cleaner toilets are. The city feels smaller now that I know where my favorite coffee comes from and which tap room has the best shaded patio or the best food. We have been to BSMF literally in rain and shine, the blazing heat and the crisp cold. We know why the locals call it Mud Fest…any party on the banks of the Mississippi after a soaking rain…well, it’s ugly. We know to bring our Wellies as we have seen many an eager festival goer step right out of their cute flip-flops or sneakers in 6″deep mud. This was the first year we even floated the idea of not coming back the next. Though we know by December we will be clamoring for tickets, for now, our enthusiasm for another year had tempered. Are we burned out? Are we tired of this? Aren’t we all…on this festival… and so much more.

We got home late after our long weekend in Memphis and I found myself awake until midnight, packing to take call the following day. Returning to work was a sharp reminder that life had to return to the routine. Soccer and baseball; school programs and dentist appointments. Scott had to be out-of-town for the day, and we found ourselves trying to manage the kids from the road and the office by sending frantic (and repeated) texts, “Don’t forget to wake up your sister”; “Please let the dog out”; “No. No more pizza. Or cookies.”

Walking through the halls of the hospital late at night, I felt defeated and exhausted. How much longer can I do this? I counted the number of nights away from my kids this month. Between travel for work, a few nights for fun, and several trauma calls…it was too many. I felt crushed and guilty. Is this burnout? Is this what they are talking about all over social media? Feeling “less meaning in your work” and feeling “increasingly tired and hopeless”. Yes. This must be it.

But, no. I think we need to be careful with all of the burnout talk. Of course, there is an extreme on the burnout spectrum that is self-defeating and dangerous. However, I suggest that many of us live more in mundane than in burnout. I know I am. It’s not as exciting as it used to be…the trauma bay is not the overwhelming adrenaline generator it used to be. It’s more controlled to me now. The thrill of having children, holding the baby; the dream of marriage, the wedding. Those are moments. This is life. It can be boring and neutral. Most of the time, it’s tiring. But that doesn’t mean I am burned out. It means I have settled in. Here is where the good stuff is, really. The reassuring routine with the kids. The depth of the marriage. The calmness in the storm at work. It’s not a sign that it’s time to move on. It’s a sign that it’s safe and familiar. It’s not the time to talk about burnout as much as a time to talk about warming our fingers and toes by the embers of the fire that we have created…the glow and the heat will be around for a while. It’s not time to talk about skipping next year’s annual adventure to BSMF because it’s not novel anymore. It’s time to talk about putting the boots on and going down to the river and walking straight into the mud, because we have enough experience to know, it’s difficult and messy and tiring, but it’s good and it’s safe. And it will be worth coming back for more. Again and again.

Disclaimer: My viewpoints are not necessarily reflective of my employer, or any local, regional or national organization that I belong to. As a matter of fact, I pretty much just speak for myself. Please keep that in mind.