Last winter, I gave myself permission to rest. No, not taking a relaxing bath while simultaneously making plans for my next travel itinerary, and no, not absent-mindedly doing yoga while thinking about my next career move. I gave myself time to just be. To try my hardest to stay in the present moment, and to enjoy what I had in front of me at any given moment, and to be ready for any epiphanies that tend to reveal themselves in the midst of idleness. What I took away from this experiment was the ability to listen to my nervous system, stay present, and remind myself that I am, and always have been, the creator of my life. Quiet moments like these don’t come often for most of us, so I was determined to make the most of it.
As someone that describes herself as a chronic people-pleaser, I have wrecked my nervous system for the sake of others over the years. This winter, I knew it was time to take stock on who and what was important to me for my own health. I practiced saying no. I was selective about who I allowed into my life, and their proximity to me. I began to realize that I actually don’t have to make other people’s problems my own, no matter how much I cared about them. As someone who was dubbed “Dr. Phil” in middle school, I’ve had to ignore the urge to insert myself into other’s problems. I made executive decisions to cut conversations short when they were no longer productive, or began to turn into opportunities to complain. Advice was only given when asked, if I even felt like giving it in the first place. Being still has allowed me to realize the importance of being intentional with my time and protective of my nervous system, so that I no longer feel the need to carry everyone else’s weight on my shoulders along with my own.
Staying present has always been difficult for me. Mulling over the past, wracked with guilt and regret, things I wish I did or said differently. Anxiously awaiting the future, a tug-of-war between what my dreams are, and what society expects from a young adult with a college degree. It was only until I turned 30 where I began to forgive myself for the past, to let things go that happened, and to realize that it has molded and strengthened me into the person I am becoming. However, my future thoughts have become even stronger, as if the past handed all its energy to it, like a baton in a 100 meter dash. This winter of rest has allowed me to work on my constant future thinking by practicing staying in the present. And although it involves meditating most mornings, it also means practicing the physical intention of moving slowly. Washing the dishes with care, rather than treating the task like a race. Walking up and down the stairs and feeling every pressure point from my toes, to my knees, all the way to the very top of my head. And breathing. Breathing is a big one. Learning to breathe has allowed me to release so much tension from my body, revealing structural misalignments that oftentimes make me feel ungrounded. Being present is so much more than just “being in the moment.” It’s an opportunity to re-introduce yourself to your body, and listen to what it’s been trying to tell you.
One of the biggest things to come out of this winter of idleness is the remembrance of who I am, which is essentially a creator. An artist. A manifestor. Being to myself with only time on my hands conjured up memories of my kid-self. The girl who loved to spend time in nature, draw silly doodles, and ferociously read adventure fiction novels. I suppressed so much of that when college came around, and adulthood came barreling through, bulldozing any ounce of creativity I may have had once I was released into the real world. However, I granted permission to the child version of myself to run free and explore in any way she wanted to. I painted pictures, started knitting and crochet projects, read thrilling novels rather than self-improvement books, and got as much sun as I could, as hard as it was in the dead of winter. Many projects I started, and did not finish. It was more about intuition. Doing things I wanted to do at any given time, just because I wanted to. Because my body needed to release energy in a certain way. I didn’t force myself to finish projects I no longer enjoyed, to complete books I fell out of interest with. I did things purely for the joy of it, sans guilt. Life is already filled with expectations that you are obligated to fulfill, and I now refuse to put those same obligations on myself whenever possible. Expressing my creative self has given me permission to take advantage of every opportunity to do exactly what I want to do and what my heart desires whenever possible.
The gift of rest that I was given this winter was an invaluable experience that I plan to recreate on a regular basis, even if in much smaller doses. My nervous system is in a constant state of restoration. My mind continues to recalibrate to the present, staying focused on what is in front of me, not what’s solidified in the past, or what’s not yet realized in the future. Creating, for me, is a right, rather than a luxury. I realize that this experience is a privilege that most of us are not given, but I believe this privilege in particular was one that not only helped myself, but will ultimately extend itself to others, as it makes me a better person. One who is more patient, compassionate, and loving whenever I decide to step back into the world.
Jonaye L. Barnum 