All the way home

You made it home. You're on the couch with the people you'd run into a fire for. And you're not there. You're scrolling work in your head, or worse, out loud — relitigating the meeting, the manager, the customer, the colleague who didn't pull his weight. The kids are telling you about their day and you're nodding at a story you didn't hear, because part of you never left the building.

Two ways to ruin an evening, and we run both. One is staying mentally on the clock. The other is who we let into the off hours with us. Seneca's advice on company is blunt: "avoid dismal men who grumble at whatever happens, and find something to complain of in everything" (Of Peace of Mind VII, Stewart). That includes the grumbler living in your own head, the one who imports the whole day's grievance to the dinner table and sets it down between you and the people you love.

Being present is the off-the-clock half of switching off. Not just leaving work physically. Arriving home all the way — undivided, not half there, not silently still on shift.

The people in front of you can tell the difference. They always could.