Yesterday, I hit a wall.
Around 3 p.m., I was just…done. My mental capacity was depleted. My physical energy levels were suuuuper-low. I wanted to tap out for the day.
I still had lots of things that needed doing — promoting my upcoming program, developing a proposal for a new client, recording guided visualizations for a course, figuring out dinner and preparing it, helping the kiddo with homework, getting outside for a walk — but I chose to lie down on the floor in our front room and close my eyes.
The puppy came over and plopped down beside me and chewed her bone. I could feel her warm body against my leg, along with the hard floor under the rug. The overcast sunlight strained against my eyelids, and I settled. I let my mind slow down…stopped the to-do list…and almost drifted off.
I managed to get to that liminal space of thoughts floating in and out, my mind hopping from one topic to another: my work…the article I’d read about a company shutting down internal conversations about social unrest…how my back felt against the floor and how tight my right shoulder felt…what the rest of the week held in terms of responsibilities…a line I’d read in an autobiography before bed the night before…how the sounds outside vibrated through the walls and along the floor…the sound of Suzanne gnawing…
I had to stop myself from checking to see what time it was, and force myself to just be in that moment, for a long moment. I can’t remember the last time I’ve done that. It felt luxurious.
I opened my eyes and noticed a little black spider crawling across the ceiling. Just a little guy, not a big scary one that freaked me out. This one seemed friendly. I watched it crawl confidently in one direction, then stop, shift and head another way. I wondered how it chose where to go on that expansive ceiling. What was it looking for? Where was it trying to get to? How did it choose to turn, or stop or keep going? How did the world look from up there?
I closed my eyes again and drifted back to random thoughts and not-thoughts, an internal and external space of allowing. Allowing my body to rest, to be supported by the hickory floor and wool rug. Allowing my mind to float and wander, without a task at hand or problem to unravel. Allowing my Self to be for many long moments of daydreaming, listening, resting, allowing.
I’ve been pushing, producing, growing, expanding, striving for the first few months of the year, and now, mid-way through Month 4, I’m tired. It feels sudden, and somewhat unexpected.
Don’t get me wrong — I’ve loved the work I’ve been doing and the people I’ve been fortunate to work with, and I’m excited about what’s coming — my group program, Positively Chronic starts in a couple weeks, and I’ve got writing projects underway, and gorgeous, deep, lovely clients, and other ways of creating impact that truly inspire me. All good stuff. AND, I need to ensure I have rest, replenishment, built into my days.
I do rest — in the last three years, I’ve found a much better balance in my life than ever before — AND, yesterday, I felt the pull to infuse higher quality rest, not just collapse-at-the-end-of-the-day-in-front-of-the-TV rest. I’ve become lazy with my rest. I’ve lowered my standard to the point that it doesn’t serve me, replenish me, or frankly, inspire me.
So that’s what I’m shifting toward now: nourishing rest that helps me show up as fully as I can so I feel energized in what I do and who I be. For me that looks like walks in old forests, gentle yoga, and reading insightful and inspiring works. It looks like deep and unhurried conversations with good friends. And because I know myself well, my challenge will be ingraining these as non-negotiables, ahead of work and other to-do’s, rather than once-in-awhiles.
I opened my eyes again and scanned the ceiling for the little spider. I’d lost track of it. It was gone. My guess is it scurried down a wall or into a dark corner or the potted plant on top of the bookshelf. I hope it found what it was looking for. I feel like I did.
How do you rest? Can you add more high quality rest to your life?