Please tell me many of you out there have a constant and at times intrusive need to “do something” with your day. The intensity of this urge has ebbed and flowed through my life thus far. In recent years I have been able to understand and implement the need for rest and recovery. Thus, I’ve discovered the battle of productivity now versus productivity later (please also tell me it is standard that this takes approximately thirty years or two children, or one child and a full-time job, whichever comes first) and the conflicting classification of rest as something productive.
Please tell me that sorta-not-really dichotomy throws others.
Sometimes I get the productivity urge on days or during times when I’m prioritizing rest (rest can and should be occasionally synonymous with “de-stress”). When I’ve lifted enough, worked enough, cooked enough, slept enough, mothered and partnered and socialized enough (or cut my losses in one or more of any given category). That window of an hour or the fleetingly rare day of minimal responsibility. It is my chance. To read a book, to watch a trashy TV show, to start a project, to stare at my phone, to numb out, to stretch out, to take a walk, to clean/organize, to cook for leisure, to shop. To write.
Please tell me I’m not the only one that longs for an expanse of that. A vacation of joy and fulfillment and choice and connection. And comfort. And potentially children in places and spaces and doses (but mostly volume) of my choosing.
Sometimes when I want to do something with my day I also want to do a few things with my day. Now, I know I’m not the only one who tends to multitask. And so there’s the writing. The way I can be productive with the resting. When I can stretch my mind and my voice while resting my body. When I can hear from my heart and check in on my soul and be sure that I am still myself, at least in some parts and some spaces.
And afterward it’s not too far off from that post-workout high. Or crossing something you’ve been kinda dreading doing off your list. With something immediate to show for it. And, in my case, share. Because some days nothing comes.
And, like anything else, you get out the time you put in. The more I am able to write, the more I want to, the more confident I become and the more risks I’m willing to take. The bigger my dreams become. Like anything else.
On that note, I’m feeling this little infographic today. If that’s even what this would be called. This very accurately depicts the fluid and rigid, temporary and/or constant–potentially situational–confines within which I am perpetually: living, pushing, experimenting, striving, minimizing and/or ignoring.
It’s no wonder sometimes exhaustion sets in and immune systems fail us and I find myself sitting and resting and being…and writing.