A Cozy Hour
It’s a sparkling sunny day here, and I’m sitting here trying to type veeery quietly while Rowan does a recorded reading assessment for her teacher. It’s a cozy, peaceful moment, if you ignore the mess of blankets and pillows in the middle of the floor (I’m told it’s called a blanket pool), the animals running around, and the to-do list a mile wide that I am delightfully ignoring. I just started a good book (Robert E. Lee and Me) and I am very tempted to curl up in an armchair and steal an hour to read.
It’s funny. Back when the girls were in school, I used to steal an hour on a regular basis. An hour to grab brunch after running errands, an hour to work in the garden when I should be writing, an hour to meet a friend for coffee and reconnect. But now that I have so many hours and very few places to go, I feel so much more guilty about it.
It’s almost like I was paying for those hours with my productivity. They were a reward to myself for getting the chapter done, or for taking the time to volunteer, or for finishing our taxes. Which, on the one hand, makes sense. After working hard, we should rest. Making space for relaxation turns bursts into action into a sustainable life.
But imagining that rest as a product that I pay for through achievement flips the work/rest relationship on its head. I should be allowed to rest whenever my body or mind need it. Instead, our culture tells us that rest is only there to motivate or refuel us to go back out there and put our nose to the grindstone. Any rest that is unnecessary should induce guilt. We wouldn’t want to be lazy, after all.
But this year, with all of my slumps, breaks, and stolen hours to read, has been by far my most productive when it comes to writing. I’ve launched one book, written another, pitched it to dozens of agents, set that project aside, and am three chapters into the next book. And none of those were rush jobs. There’s something to that rest/work balance that I misunderstood.
Last week, I had a day where I was dragging. My writing day officially starts after the girls are off their calls and no longer need assistance. I got to my office (aka playroom aka kid school area), and tried to focus. Instead, I scrolled Facebook. I read some articles. I checked out our county’s Covid stats. I gave up and played a video game for awhile. Finally, I looked down at the clock. Crap. I had 15 minutes before clocking out for dinner. Fine, I told myself. Let’s salvage what little I can. I’m going to do some writing, even if it’s only 10 words.
After all that time wasting, when I finally did put metaphorical pen to paper, the words flowed out of me. I can’t tell you yet if they’re good or bad, that will come in a month or two when I re-read them. But I can tell you this. I got more written in that 15 minutes than if I’d spent three hours forcing myself to focus.
There’s something to this idea of listening to our own rhythms, especially when creativity and motivation are involved. A few months ago, I asked Forrest to give me some workouts to help me run faster than my current snail’s pace. He set me up with some intervals, where you run very fast for a short distance and then slow waaaaay down to recover. Once your heart rate is down a bit, you sprint again. On and off, on and off. Usually, being the slowpoke that I am, slowing waaaay down means walking. But at the end, that cycle of rest and work ends up with a faster average time than slow and steady. Studies also show that interval training is a better workout, giving you more bang for your buck.
At what point did I start treating myself like an unreliable employee who needs to be watched at all times? When I’m running, I don’t earn my breaks by sprinting. I take the breaks so I can be ready for the next sprint. When I’m writing, I don’t earn the time to daydream or read other authors by writing. I daydream or read to enhance my writing.
When all this is over and I get that dopamine kick from having an uber-productive day, I hope that I’ll remember that rest isn’t my reward. It’s a necessary part of a rhythm, one that I’ve forgotten too often. For now, in this very cozy moment, I’m going to curl up with that book and remember I’m not stealing this hour, I’m simply enjoying it.