Overbooked

After a busy two months, I did nothing one day.

As rain sang over my home, I lounged on my grandma’s velvet couch. Yes, I fed the animals. Yes, I connected with my adult children and God. However, my pajamas were not exchanged for clothes. The weather didn’t allow a long walk with my dog. Meals were small plates of whole foods, reminding me of the sandwiches my dad used to make me during my rebellious teens. The only thing we could agree on were a beefsteak tomato, cheese, and mayonnaise between bread.   

This sweet memory peppering my time, I paged through a book. I wandered up the stairs to watch both Zorro movies. The clean dishes waited unloading in the dishwasher. The laundry basket rested unmoved near the washer. The exercise equipment remained exactly as named, ‘stationary.’ My writing ideas stayed ideas. My spring garden plants went unselected. 

I had all intentions of resting this day, but never without tackling these tasks. Yet, my nothing day showed me something greater than a finished job. 

Moving and doing are very addicting. Nothing new here, but it’s far easier recognizing a performance attitude in another person. Not quite the Saturday realization I had wanted. But here it was. Both internal and external activities determine whether my day—according to me--was lived with significance. I wrote the curriculum and graded myself on what a well-lived, worthy day looks like.  

Even the urge to rise, to move, to do, to ‘be’ something more than I was on this day suggests my inability to view my life differently, to slow down and turn a different corner.

Normally, I would call this day ‘being a slug.’ Normally, this does not happen. Somewhere in the hours of this special day, another thought wrinkled my brain. My habit of rest incorporates—a very good word choice here—the rhythm of my business world. In other words, being productive was not only at war with my day off, but had become the framework for such. My favorite writer on time management, Jordan Raynor, says, “…this rhythm of rest isn’t just about what we don’t do. It’s also about the life-giving things we do do. Sabbath is a day for ceasing and feasting” (https://www.jordanraynor.com). 

Even in rest, my nothing day pointed out my mind, body, and spirit were in hyperspace movement mode. I am overbooked. And I’m over being overbooked from events to meetings to dinners. But to arrive at rest, I have to rethink my work. My thinking needs to differentiate between rest and work. Work needs to be asked what really needs to be done, what brings joy in the day, and what is really my gnarly egocentric desires that rob my daylight.

Then I can arrive at the beautiful and elusive word we speak with reverence: rest.

As for this Saturday, after the angst had its heyday, I woke to the presence of my surroundings. The weeping cherry trees cascaded with flowers. The daffodils bowed their blooms. The yellow of the forsythias reminded me of childhood cousins and playing outside. 

The pink camellias, a perfect flower to wear for a tango, opened to the sweet raindrops. 

How could I admire early spring, enjoy reading and movie watching, and ignore work of any kind on a weekend and label it a bad-lived day? 

Harder still, my soul resisted being soothed by such a day. The last two months have been spent in two countries and in multiple states of the US, living in community and new work challenges. Somewhere in the busy, I’d adopted the identity of a person in a hurry, as a person who is busy. And being busy, we all know, equates with being important. Right. Even the days off have been spent catching up with what was left behind. My hurry mentality had bled into rest.

The angst over doing nothing robbed a smidgen of this day. But there’s something about recognizing an action in my being that truly paves the way to course correction. Thus, the angst, dare I say, was productive. Acknowledging became freeing, an awakening that showed how I’ve weighed the weight of my days. My construct of a well-lived day was exposed for all its work on my part: Being a contributing member of society, not harming another in word or deed, and whether my relationship with God met my expectation. 

This day fought, and it fought hard, the battle between ‘doing’ and ‘being.’ Grandly, a vast sense of gratitude forged its way into my heart, a strong knight to his beloved. Thankfulness again was the weapon wielded that broke the spell. Small things were emphasized as the greatest of treasures: sleeping on my pillow, delighting in a hunk of artisan cheese, crunching an ambrosia apple.

The ability to sit, to read words. All these exquisite actions went up as prayers lifted in my hands to the Creator of creation. 

Looking back, my mind struggles with wanting to stamp ‘wasted’ on this particular Saturday. An interruption of busy, of going and doing. A loss. It helps to remember the battle, remember that the peace that surpasses all understanding guards my mind and heart in Christ Jesus. Further, developing a strong sense of not saying ‘yes and no’ in the moment is needed. I can’t always do this, as split seconds are necessary in life, but often enough, I can defer to a maybe and prayer. 

What if this brings real living? What if my life was more about sacredness and quality, where my soul is reorganized as my brain’s synapses blaze a new pattern? Truly, each day gifts me eyes to see beauty, to remember goodness. Moments devoid of measure because some gifts are beyond quantification.  

Perhaps, just perhaps, I’m stepping into a truly good day.  

Photo by Andy Beales on Unsplash