Chasing ease

Taking a break shouldn't be such hard work

Rilla, age adorable

Are you any good at resting? At taking time off? At cutting yourself some slack?

I’m envious.

I churn along, working hard at all the things (so many things!) and then when I finally get a bit of a breather…I’m at sea. All the fun activities I was longing to do as soon as I got a break? Impossible to choose. I’ll hear myself start thinking I should do some gardening, I should work on that stitching project, I should read that book I’ve been dying to get to…operative word SHOULD. Like the fun stuff is yet another entry on the to-do list.

I know who to read when I get into this head-spinny place—Oliver Burkeman, Basho, Mary Oliver, Olav Hauge, to name a few—but even that awareness (I should read so-and-so, they’ll help) can turn into a sense of obligation. Do you know what I mean? It’s when the thing you know will do you good starts to feel like work dressed up as self-care.

I don’t mean that it IS work, just that it can feel like it, right at first. Maybe it’s more accurate to say: the decision is work, and the first step. Walk into the garden; pick up the good book; reach for the watercolor pencil.

Maybe that’s just me?

Writing this, I’m reminded of the old Flylady days. Some of you have been on the internet long enough to remember the daily emails—a bit corny, rather busy, but containing the very real magic of tiny first steps. Lace up your shoes, shine your sink: Flylady was teaching tiny habits before Tiny Habits were cool. 😉

Life with tiny children (speaking of tiny) taught me that easy access was the key to doing the fun activities I wanted them to be able to do, with minimal friction. We had a dedicated kitchen drawer just for plastic placemats, watercolors, and brushes—at just the right height for a three-year-old to “do it I-self.”

This table made my inner three-year-old extremely happy

Years later, I gave my embroidery supplies the same treatment: a well-stocked cart right next to my favorite chair so I can commence stitching without having to stand up, much like the Jack Lemmon character in Mr. Roberts operating his elaborate pulley system from his bunk. (Dated reference? My Aunt Genia loved that film—I can still picture her demonstrating Sgt. Pulver’s trick of reaching for the rope with his toes. The internet seems disinclined to provide me with a still from that scene, so I guess you’ll just have to watch the movie. Henry Fonda and James Cagney in fine form.)

Anyway—I think what I’m saying is I know all the tricks! All the little hacks that are meant to get you (me) past the hurdles of decision-making and first steps. And yet! I so often succumb to the lure of the to-do list. Instead of rest, I wind up doing the rest of the chores—or making a chore out of the restful things.

I hope you can hear me laughing at myself. It’s comical and exasperating. I’m offering no suggestions for getting yourselves out of this same boat—for while I have, indeed, a boatload of good advice, it’s packed into the cargo hold of an entirely different ship.