On Honoring Periods of Rest

To be still is to be the ocean calling its rivers back to itself.

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Dear Reader,

I’ve been in a bit of a lull. Though work is somewhat steady, it isn’t as hectic as it once was. My inbox isn’t overflowing as it has been during previous moments. I’ve seen many peers in creative fields echo similar sentiments. For the first time in a while, the dust has settled and things are… quiet. There’s a tension I feel between my conditioning and my natural response. When I imagined my return to the States after seven months in South East Asia, I was certain I’d hit the ground running right back into the chaos I had left behind several weeks prior. There’s a part of me that is panicked- scrambling in the silence. Asking myself questions that make sense when you know what its like to have gone without. I’ve been conditioned to tie my worth as an artist to how booked and busy I am. To compare my current self to the wins of my past. There’s another part of me that has been leaning into this quiet. Making lists. Decorating my space. Imagining what I’d like my future to look like. Deepening into old hobbies (film photography is a big one of mine). Researching classes I’d like to take and skills I’d like to learn. Reexamining my past goals and seeing if they still align with the woman I am and the one I’m seeking to become.

Slowing down to regroup. Pausing to take inventory of what was and plan what will be. Making space to listen. These are passive states that seem as though they’re without power. However, it is in these states that we generate more aliveness. Receive direction. Refill our reservoirs. Gather and fortify our inner reserves. This is to be taken seriously.

To be still is to be the ocean calling its rivers back to itself. To be still is to lead all that you’ve exhausted back to its origin. Stillness denotes inner movement. It was in the moments in my life when I was most still that the seeds I’m currently reaping were planted and watered.

To be still is to be the ocean calling its rivers back to itself. A way to lead all that you’ve exhausted back to its origin. Stillness denotes inner movement.

There’s no shame in honoring periods of rest. They often occur after points of great production, upheaval and change. They come as a harbinger that lots of growth and transformation will soon spring forth, so it’s vital to pause at and embrace them when they present themselves. Though we don’t know how long this season will last, what’s certain that another will follow.

In this culture where we are taught to martyr our bodies at the altar of capitalist production, someone who deeply honors their rest is an outlier. We are taught to fight against it at all costs. No sleep til death. Hustle and grind (my bones to dust). Those are the touchstones we are expected to give reverence to. 

You can’t expect anyone who doesn’t take their time to understand your pace without rushing you. You can’t expect anyone who isn’t a devotee of the heart to know what you can hear when you are quiet enough to listen. Being in a state of fertile receptivity is how your soil can nurture the seeds that encounter it, and be a home for the connectivity of networks communicating below its surface. What is still is cultivating a deeper aliveness.

I am settling into the stillness with intention. I am trusting in the whispers as dutifully as I’ve trusted in the roars. I know what will follow is the ability to sense when the period of rest has come to an end based on what is shifting in my life. The trees will begin the process of budding. Creatures will stir from hibernation. Plants will awaken from their dormancy. The grass will come alive with green again.

Until then, I will root myself fully where I am and do the work of watering.