I was sipping decaf Columbian coffee last night, alternating the sips with bites of hot fudge and mocha ice cream covered brownie. The thought that reverberated and is still echoing this morning was, “Wow. This is nice. This is living. It’s so simple, but so wonderful…so all-encompassing.” And it was quiet. It was just me, my dining room table, and the decadent dessert. I wasn’t working furiously at my laptop, or checking out a movie, or even perusing a book. I was just…sipping.
It makes me wonder: How many of life’s joys have I been missing simply because I was trying to pack as much as possible into each moment? Because productivity was the ultimate priority? Because I needed to have something to show for that spent time?
Sometimes when I am out walking, I have to remind myself to lift up my chin and take awe in the trees, the flowers, the skyscrapers; to get my mind off of how many calories I’m burning or how quickly I can get home to start on the next task. When eating a meal, it is an exercise in discipline to just sit and enjoy it! My hobbies are regimented, all the better for ensuring they each can be checked off the list. “Fun” is scheduled, and by the very act of scheduling I strangle any joy inherent in the activity.
This week, then, has been a push for me. The weekends of July are ripe with activity, filled to the brim with events and adventures. This is a good thing, a great thing, especially for someone like me who could easily and contentedly go for days without seeing another person. Besides the enjoyment that comes from my friends and family, I will benefit from clocking some more “social” hours so I can hopefully become more and more comfortable around people. Yet. There is a downside to the full schedule — when will I rest and replenish my introvert time? It is now up to the weeknights to restore equilibrium to my life. I am finding this balancing maneuver taxing, however.
How lazy I feel! How listless! When I get home from work, I want to start a frenzy of activity after my usual chores are put to bed. And yet, I haven’t the stamina. I think of an activity, but quickly veto it: “Go for a walk?” “I just walked home…no.” “Ice cream run?” “Like I need it.” “Get a book from the library?” “Takes too much energy.” And so and so forth. So I end up just resting and accomplishing a whole lot of nothing.
Or is it more than that? Maybe the doing “nothing” is allowing me to wake up to the sea of small moments around me, to slow down and feel the beats between the hummingbird’s wings so to speak. Or to just savor the delightful pairing of hot coffee and rich chocolate.