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Posts Tagged ‘getting away’

Breathing again: 14 ways to calm down and recharge

In behavior, domestic life, life, travel, urban life, women, work on September 30, 2012 at 12:11 am

My shoulders have dropped. I’m breathing deeply.

I’ve really enjoyed a blessed two-week respite, even while still working at the computer almost every day for a few hours.

These things helped:

Long evenings with dear old friends, people who have known me at 15 or 25 or 40, who remember and pay attention. I love having a long history with people, watching them grow (up) as well. A deeply shared history is comforting to me.

Being outdoors in warm fall sunshine. Went for a really long hike this afternoon at Warsaw Caves, (thanks to Ontario reader Susan F. for her blog’s inspiration!) and loved seeing all the mushrooms, sniffing the pine needles and coming home worn out.

Physical activity. I took my first golf lesson, biked, walked, went to the gym.

– A vigorous 90-minute massage. If I were rich, I’d have a massage every week.

Silence. The only sound at my Dad’s house is the haunting and lovely echo of passing trains.

Taking photos.

– Buying a new mini sketchbook and pocket-size watercolor kit. Remembering to make art.

– Being able to walk into town and to the local cafe. Not driving all the time!

– Making a roaring fire and listening to it crackle, then watching the embers glow. We don’t have a fireplace at home.

Reading for pure pleasure, not work or for staying up to date on all my projects.

Unplugging. Staying off the computer (somewhat!), no TV and severely limiting my consumption of radio, newspapers, magazines and the web.

– But…also listening to the radio in French, Radio-Canada. I really miss hearing and speaking French.

Sleeping  up to 11 a night hours as needed. Plus naps!

– Bathing in a deep cast-iron tub by candlelight.

I’ve loved making a thermos of tea and heading back to bed just to read a good novel; (I never read fiction.) I read “All the Pretty Horses”, Cormac McCarthy’s award-winning 1992 book. It’s amazing.

I’ve also treasured the luxury of a lot of space, a house with two floors, two staircases and four bathrooms, as I live and work in 1,000 square feet at home.

But I’ve really valued silence — deep, thick, uninterrupted silence.

I did an eight-day silent Buddhist retreat with my husband in July 2011, (which I blogged about here, if you’re interested in the details), and it changed me for good. I would never have chosen it — he did! — and the enforced silence was instructive indeed. We communicated by Post-Its, hand signals and a few whispers in our room.

Mostly, though, we just shut the hell up. Here’s my story about the retreat from the  November 2011 issue of Marie Claire magazine.

That time away taught me how much energy it takes just to be social. From the minute we wake up to the minute we fall asleep, most of us are also on a timeline, or many — responding to the needs and schedules of our kids’, our pets’, our partner’s, let alone our own, socially, spiritually, physically and professionally.

So these two weeks, most of it spent quietly alone, have been something of a retreat. (My October is insanely busy, with 10 of 30 nights already booked with social or professional engagements.)

We all need to retreat, rest, relax. Yet it’s radically counter-cultural to just unplug and be alone in silence.

We all spend our days, and our nights, talking/reading/listening/watching/interacting/emailing/tweeting — and wonder why we end up so worn out.

How do you recharge?

Workaholics Hate Vacations

In behavior, business on June 8, 2010 at 10:44 am

So, three and a half days. That’s pretty good, right? I haven’t posted for 3.5 days. It’s not that work is so great, but money is. Generally, you don’t get the latter without the former. Et voila.

Fun piece in today’s Globe and Mail about workaholics who try (not very successfully) to go on vacation and…do nothing.

The photo with this post is me this morning at breakfast. We are at Manoir Hovey, a country house hotel on a lake that we know and love from repeated visits since we first arrived, shell-shocked and weary in November 2001 after experiencing and covering 9/11. The minute we drove over the border into rural Quebec — home! — my shoulders dropped with relief.

The sweetie is beside me on the sofa reading “In Pursuit of Silence” on his Kindle and I brought a foot-high stack of magazines and a few books, David Finkel’s “The Good Soldiers” and Michael Ondaatje’s “Divisadero”. (He is a Canadian writer, best known for “The English Patient”, although “In The Skin Of A Lion” is spectacular.)

Reading for pleasure! The sweetie and I, trying to survive in journalism, remain ambitious and driven, but I wouldn’t call us workaholics. I always “forget” my cellphone charge cord so no one can reach me. I read email but may not reply. My perfect recharge is eat/sleep/shop/repeat. We may bike or go horseback riding or swim. Or not.

He golfs, reads, stares at the sky. We both take lots of photos; I got some great snaps of the garden, dew-covered, at 7:15 yesterday morning.

Work is seductive, never more so than in a recession that appears never-ending. We need incomes! We need our bosses and clients to consider us well worth our cost to them. It makes us feel needed, charged, plugged-in, useful, valued. All good.

But not at the expense of our health. Staying narrowly focused all the time is what carriage horses do. It’s hard to see much else, or listen more broadly — even to silence — if we spend every minute attentive only to our professional status and value.

Work is a false god. Yes, we need to be really good at it and, for a select few, available 24/7 — I’m thinking Obama. But we all need to carve out and protect time, space and silence to not be indispensable, except to ourselves, our partners and kids, our spirits.

In the library here, we met a great Montreal couple our age; she’s a judge and he’s a psychologist. She plays flute and he plays drums in a band. I loved that both, in serious, demanding jobs, make sure to have a life without a check attached to it. I’ve recently, after way too much struggle whether I could afford to take three hours out of a Friday morning for class, re-discovered drawing and am loving it.

Do you take, or enjoy vacations? What do you think of workaholics?

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