I spend most of the day reading. My home is clean. The laundry is put away. The work I committed to over the weekend is done. I recite it out loud to myself and then speak the permission for the rest of the day: do whatever you want to do.
Today, I want to make a fire and keep it going for hours and hours. And I do. Today, I want to read until I don’t want to anymore. And I keep going for hours and hours. I want to exchange jeans for yoga pants and sit on the cushions in front of the fireplace and when I look up from my book I see my cats sleeping on the couches, keeping me company.
I have never had trouble wasting away an afternoon, but I have always struggled with the idea that I did waste it. Guilt crept in, even on the weekends, that every moment of my time should’ve been put towards something better — to a long run or to writing or to getting my taxes in order or better preparing for the week.
I have had weekends this winter where I didn’t get myself out of bed until noon no matter if I’d been awake since the early morning. As much as I try to give myself grace on those days and acknowledge that my body needs it, I worry that it’s a depressive symptom kicking in. I have to remind myself again and again that I don’t have to feel guilty for rest. None of us should.
Today didn’t feel like that. Maybe because I got out of bed to spend the first hours of the day reading in the living room instead of under the covers or because, for whatever reason, I’m simply struggling less today. I feel full from time with family this weekend and zooming with friends last night. That energy to “be productive” earlier in the day has eased some of my normal Sunday anxiety and my plan to do what I want for most of the day has been incredibly restorative.
Or maybe I’m just reading a really good book. I am reading a really good book (currently racing through the Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard series by Rick Riordan)
Tomorrow is the start of a new month, a new week, and I am ready to say goodbye to February at last. It’s arbitrary, these markers, but I like the built-in resets. And though it’s further off than I think, I’m also ready for the spring I got a hint of this weekend. The sun-soaked walk yesterday. The microclimate on the parents’ deck that had the temperature up to 50 degrees — not a bad place to do some work for an hour.
The days are getting longer, the vaccines are getting administered . . . seasons change and that’s always been a good thing.
With Love,