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?