I forgot how to rest. In the rush of excitement and churning productivity, I just forgot. 


The winding hours of late summer sun had slipped seamlessly into Fall, with sharpened-pencil energy and caffeinated crispness. The days grew shorter but my light kept burning, late into the night and beyond. Fueled by deadlines and waning creativity, I pushed. I rode of wave of festivity and joy, and slid quietly down into the silent darkness of January. 


January is for rest. Bears hibernate and the Earth itself sleeps. But I had forgotten how to rest. I vibrated through the month, restless and unsettled. I had forgotten how to rest. I jittered and shook until my body got sick. I ignored it and moved on, and it got sick again. Our bodies know, even when our minds are cloudy with muddled intentions. My body knew the answer and it rested. 


Through the dreaded dark days of February, I tugged and pulled within myself. Go. Go. Go.


“No,” replied my body. “Rest.” 


For weeks of sickness, my mind churned fitfully, resisting. 


When my body grew strong again, I lept at my desk, my deadlines, my work. My tired mind still resisted. 


Still not ready. 


I had to let go. Let go the pressure. Let go the schedule. Let go the “shoulds.” I let go of the fear that weeks of lapsed posting would ruin me and fully let myself relax.


I began to play. 


I  took a class that inspired me and experimented. Materials that sat waiting for months, buried under piles of lists and “shoulds,” were unearthed. I played and made ugly things and read a book for fun. 


The clenched fist in my throat has relaxed, an open palm now. I’m taking the pretty drive home now and going to bed early and taking the time to bake bread. I see now that I was strung taut, unable to loosen myself without sunshine and rest and play. 


The Sun is shining brilliantly through my window and my mind is alive again. Cup full. 

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