(arriving “precisely when he means to”)

Dysfunction.

Physical. Energetic. Mental: emotional; intellectual. Conscious. Dysfunction.

No choice but to go to bed. I slept for over 13 hours and felt normal by Saturday morning. It is so easy to get caught up in doing the things, and when I feel that things are going with good momentum, it is so hard to take a pause for self-care and to trust that all will be as it needs to be when I get back to things. This is why planned breaks are important. This is why planned vacations are needed. These offer us an invitation to practice trust.

I had been keeping a good rhythm with built in lulls here and there. I had been doing well, as I generally do, with managing unexpected twists and turns of daily living. Expanding my creative practice and business one small step at a time at a steady pace. ‘Doing the things’ was going well. The full stop and just be–not so much.

I was blocking some afternoon siesta times or micro-retreats throughout my week, but when those reminders popped up on my computer screen (thanks Google Calendar notifications!), I dismissed them as “unneeded” and focused on riding the good flow I had going. 

I see now that my deeper wisdom was calling me to practice. Calling me to moderation. Calling me to stop doing and just be. But, I LOVE this life I’m living! I get excited to spend all the waking hours engaged with my people, my projects, my process. Why should I need breaks from that? Always be skeptical when the should comes through.

Friday I was taken out by my ambition to do all the things. I was invited in the roughest way to engage gentleness and pause and trust. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t ready. Things weren’t tidy or organized or any of the ways one hopes to have things before taking a break. And nothing burned to the ground. No damage was done. 

A while ago, I was in a similar scene with the manic anxiety of spinning half a dozen plates. Each one in the air representing some aspect of a managed life. Each one needing careful timing and effort to keep a smooth balance and motion. Except they all got wobbly at the same time. Managing these parallel plates wasn’t working.

I took a micro-retreat and met up with my inner mentor (if you don’t know Tara Mohr’s work Playing Big, please do check it out or hmu if you want info), and she led me to a potters wheel. “We don’t know what to do with that,” I reminded her having never touched such a beautiful tool. She placed my hands on the clay form as it started to spin, and I felt all of that manic energy of separation, of overwhelm dissolve into this one form. This singular process of shaping and caring and building, and it felt so much more manageable. The way we see a thing is so powerful. 

This memory helped me reset. I got still this weekend. I took a moment. I canceled things and rearranged my schedule. I found myself back at the wheel working with a single form, a single process, and I’ll get up and stretch and change my scene in a bit when I see that notification “break time!” hit the screen.

What is your relationship to pause? How would it feel to take a break even if you don’t think you need it or if it “interrupts” things? Do you honor space to just be? I’d love to hear from you. Drop a line in the comments, send me a private email or book a curiosity call if it feels right.