My first years in the advertising business in New York, we had Summer Hours. Every Friday from Memorial Day weekend on, we were out the door at 2PM. And when we left — we were really gone.
No phones. No laptops. No way for anyone to reach you even if they wanted to.
My boss and her husband had a house on Fire Island. Half-finished basement, its own entrance, an outdoor shower. She let me stay there for free two summers in a row. And those were two of the best summers of my life.
We had to-do lists then too. People even brought work home in their briefcases — reports to review, decks to read. But the norm was to leave it behind. And most weekends, we did.
