I believe in leaving work at five o’clock. In a nation that operates on a staunch Protestant work ethic, this belief could be considered radical. Working only 40 hours a week? I just don’t know many people who punch out at five o’clock anymore. It seems downright quaint, like pocket watches and shoe shines. My father tried to teach me the importance of hard work, long hours and dedication to a career. But then there are the things he taught me unintentionally, like when he arrived home from work for the last time and crawled up the stairs. My father, a self-employed sales trainer, was that sick, that tired. His body was wracked with liver cancer, and he suffered the effects of a diabetic ulcer. Still, he insisted on traveling to honor his commitment to give a seminar. He probably earned a lot of money that day, and he paid the price: He returned to the hospital soon after and was dead within three months, at age 58.

我的信念是在五點結束每天的工作。 在這個奉行新教徒那套“工作至上”理念的國度，我的這一信念可算是激進。每周只工作40小時？我認識的人中很少是下午五點打卡下班的。那看起來就跟懷表、鞋油這類東西一樣，簡直是過時而怪異。我父親盡力教導我勤奮工作、超時工作以及獻身事業(yè)這幾點的重要性。但后來，他也無意中教了我一些東西，比如那次當他最后一次下班回家爬上樓梯的時候。 我父親是一名自雇的銷售培訓師。那天，他已經病得很厲害，疲憊不堪。肝癌拖垮了他的身體，他還飽受糖尿病潰瘍的折磨。然而，他為履行承諾仍堅持到外地主持一個研討會。他那天可能賺了不少錢，但他也付出了代價——不久之后又住進了醫(yī)院，而且三個月后就去世了，終年58歲。

It’s been 10 years since I saw my father come home that night and since then, I’ve thought a lot about work. I’ve decided something: I will never crawl up the stairs. As much as I love my job as a newspaper reporter, I will never work myself into the ground, literally or figuratively. The idea of leaving work at work didn’t come easily to me. After all, I am my father’s daughter. In college, I wasn’t going to keg parties in a frat basement; I was the girl who lingered on the library steps each morning, waiting for the doors to open. I even dreamt about schoolwork.

那晚看到父親回家已是十年前的事了，自那以后，我對工作作了多番思考。我決定：我決不要爬著樓梯回家。作為一名報社記者，盡管我非常熱愛我的工作，但我決不會因為拼命工作而把自己送進“墳墓”里，無論是字面義還是比喻義。 只在工作時間內工作的想法于我并非易事，畢竟，有其父必有其女。讀大學時，我不去大學生聯(lián)誼會在地下室里舉辦的啤酒狂歡派對，而是每天一早就在圖書館的階梯上徘徊，等著圖書館開門。我甚至做夢都會夢到功課作業(yè)。

My dad once told me he was unable to just gaze at a sunset; he had to be doing something as he looked at it—writing, reading, playing chess. You could say he was a success: He was a published author, an accomplished musician, fluent in German and the American Sign Language. That’s an impressive list, but here’s the thing: I want to gaze at sunsets. I don’t want to meet a deadline during them or be writing a column at the same time, or glance at them over the top of a book. This raises the question: If I leave work at five o’ clock to watch the sunset, what are the consequences? Do I risk not reaching the top of my profession? Maybe, because honestly, knocking off after eight hours probably won’t earn me the corner office or the lucrative promotion. But hey, leaving work at five o’ clock means I eat dinner with my family. I get to hop on my bike and pedal through the streets of my hometown as the shadows lengthen and the traffic thins. And I get to take in a lot of sunsets. That’s got to be worth something.

我父親曾經告訴我，他就是沒法凝視夕陽。看著夕陽的同時他還得做些別的事——寫作、閱讀、下象棋。你可以稱他是成功人士：他是一名發(fā)表過作品的作家，一位有造詣的音樂家，能說流利的德語，能熟練運用美國手語。這一連串成就看起來挺厲害的。但問題是：我想凝視夕陽。我不想邊看夕陽邊趕在最后期限前完成工作，也不想邊看邊給專欄趕稿，又或者是看著書，偶爾才朝那一抹夕陽瞥上一眼。這引發(fā)了一個問題：如果我五點就下班去看夕陽，會有什么后果？我是否就無法爬到職場最高位？也許是，因為說實話，工作八小時就下班，想搬進角落的高層辦公室或升職加薪是不太可能的。不過，嘿，五點就下班意味著我能和家人共進晚餐。我跳上單車，穿梭在家鄉(xiāng)的大小街道上，一切在夕陽的余暉中被拉長了影子，路上車少人稀。 從此，我看了不少夕陽美景。這肯定有其價值所在。