The body always speaks to us. If we don’t listen it will get louder until we do.
Around this time of year each year my body demands of me to rest.
Usually I don’t listen until it sends some loud signal, like a fainting episode that leads to a brain injury.
Trying to avoid that, I acquiesced.
I cancelled my trampoline and flying trapeze classes. I stayed away from the weightlifting and the interval training. Even from a walk in nature.
I settled for the least intense home based yoga practice I could do in the morning, recognizing that it wouldn’t be enough to fully plug in my brain.
In the back of my mind I had some grand plans of what I might do with a day of rest.
Catch up on reading. Work on my website. Complete my year-end review. Write some essays. Work on plans. Organize my closets. Declutter. The list went on and on.
Then I reminded myself:
This is not rest.
It’s part of my calling to teach rest, to help facilitate it for others.
It’s also the lesson I most often need to learn for myself.
Learn and relearn. And relearn again.
Rest is not “taking off from some projects to get other things done.”
The point of rest is to rest.
Not to get things done.
In recent years, rest has been touted as a great productivity hack. Effective rest can lead to better problem solving, improved creative flow, and more of the results we tend to desire.
That might be a nice side benefit, but it’s not the reason to rest.
The reason to rest is that we are human beings and we cannot function without proper rest.
And yet I’ll be the first to admit that rest is hard. I resist it.
I’d rather be active.
No matter how many studies and articles I read about the value of rest, it doesn’t change the fact that it often feels more productive to be active.
Cognitive understanding about the value of something rarely leads to acceptance of that practice. The mind is powerful, but it doesn’t motivate behavior change. Only emotion has that power.
In these moments, I reach for my copy of Wayne Muller’s book Sabbath: Finding Rest, Renewal, and Delight in Our Busy Lives.
Like an old friend, the well-worn pages of the book pull me close and remind me of the value of rest.
Not for getting more done, but as a way of reconnecting to essential rhythms of life.
As a way of facilitating inner peace and contentment.
As a portal to deep listening.
As a way of remembering what’s important.
As a way of coming home to myself.
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