It’s been a bad day for no reason. That happens sometimes, and it always chafes. Childhood conditioning lies like “If you’re resting, you could be achieving,” are clingy, annoying, happiness-sucking monsters. Because I could.
If I had to, if my survival depended on productivity, I could be productive. I could make more writing progress than I’m making. I could do more around the house, make more, be more.
But that productivity would exact a high physical and emotinal price, and pushing costs down the road until there’s a meltdown or a crash just so I can say I MADE A THING is a bad life strategy. I know that.
My world is better and more pleasant when I do not drive myself hard. When I let days be days, even when days turn into weeks In Which Nothing Gets Done, I still get back on track faster than if I push.
But I’m not good at feeling it. Patience requires faith. Faith is slippery.
That’s where the flowers come in. Stopping to take pics & inhale fragrance and soak in colors is a reminder of how full my life is already, and that being here now is enough. Even on (the many) days when I don’t feel it’s enough. Especially then.
I’m in a good place. I won’t starve or be thrown out of my home or lose my health coverage because I didn’t create or reach a word goal or clean or bake or do anything but read and eat treats today (ditto yesterday and the day before, and the day before…) That’s a marvel and an astonishment I do not undervalue.
(Okay, on all the days I “did nothing” I did read, ate treats take care of many minimal personal & environmental care things that kept me active and comfortable, so clearly I need to revisit the whole concept of “doing nothing” at some point.
But not today. Today I am enjoying lilacs and resting.
(You can also view this pic on Instagram http://bit.ly/2Jwl7ZX)