Rest, and the Rest Will Come

I played the video three times from the palm of my hand, listening to a voice tell me in twenty seconds how the strongest trees in the world could wither. 

Because, the narrator sang, a study found that when Redwoods were injected with a drug similar to adrenaline causing them to skip hibernation, they died without time to properly “winter.” 

That’s one way to get a California native’s attention. Also, a hypochondriac’s. 

 

Try as I might, I haven’t yet discovered a reliable source confirming this message via viral video during my Internet sleuthing, leading me to believe I may have fallen victim to fake news. But I gotta say, hats off to the content creator. Because it sure did change the course of my week scaring the pants off me about what would happen if I didn’t heed its objective.  (Also, if you happen to find the actual study please send it my way!)

The nudge came at a perfect time. Pings clobbered me left and right: organizations aching to meet year-end financial goals! Texts from campaign managers to reach the last mile! Surely, Ms. Wilkes, you can help just one more child in need and by the way have you bought those crackers on sale for that holiday party because YOU REMEMBERED THE CHEESE SPREAD RIGHT? A gouda gift to yourself! And let’s not even talk about the tsunami of calls and emails after an afternoon shopping around for what every adult swoons for: auto insurance.

Summed up in three words, “December,” I wrote to my coach Rebecca, “is. intrusive.” 

So on went Do Not Disturb mode and off it may never come. 

No wonder it feels like resting takes work. All that belief in our tiny ant selves standing a chance against the grain of a pushing, forcing world. It takes a lot to hush the voice serving up a buffet of all the things we could be doing when stopping to take a single breath--dare we aim to inhale one hundred.

And for us creatives, it’s especially tricky. Because no masterpiece ever quite feels done. 

I cared for a spirited personality inside a tiny-framed dog over the holiday, lucky to share her home. One filled with golden south-facing light, a variety of candles and sheepskin blankets. A perfect canvas to experiment with resting. The Redwoods danced around like sugarplum fairies in my head and it felt rebelliously wonderful to gently begin letting myself off the hook. Starting with an extra long morning wrapped in my silk robe. Then lounging on the sun drenched sofa in cozy new socks. Doing nothing but reading with a cup of tea for six whole hours in one sumptuous day. Snatching ten more of sleep my body so craves. 

Luxury. But is it? 

Nestled in the pages of the magical book that absorbed me into its world this week, there is a real man named Tom Hickman. He lives on a small island off the west coast of Scotland called the Isle of Mull, opting for life without electricity and internet and television. Tom forages off the land to make many of his own housewares and art while staying in shape by fueling his cottage with peat. To do this, he derives from wisdom of our ancestors who figured it all out without Amazon and Ikea.

He says, “If you want to be creative, the first thing you must create is time.” To which, I’ll add– “to rest.” I don’t think a life like Tom’s sounds so bad. An teeny bit extreme, maybe. But I bet one full of satisfaction and surprise.

On a sixty-two degree Christmas day, the pup and I headed to the Washington Monument where something caught my eye: itsy bitsy cherry blossoms. In BLOOM. At first, I eyed them, a little concerned. What are you kids doing out here in winter? Even if it doesn’t feel like it.

Turns out, those bursts of color against a backdrop of bare, hibernating branches are a special species that show off an “autumn bloom.” A little awakening pop when I least expected it.

Not dissimilar to my animal communication sessions which have been flowing like crazy since this phenomenon called “rest and do what you really want.” Messages have been spot on. The rhythm has been joyful. Levels of appreciation stemming from my clients have exceeded what I thought possible. And big, beautiful ideas tied to some lofty writing projects have super bloomed, too. 

So yes, I think I’ll keep this trend going as we ring in 2024.

And, my friends, a special thank you for reading and showing up. Not just today, but all fourteen months The Deep End has evolved and grown into a space where I have found my voice. If you have gotten this far, please give yourself a sturdy pat on the back and take this as a cue to close the browser tabs and sink your ear into a squishy pillow.

Happy, restful new year to you.  Enjoy this story? Consider joining my email list where subscribers get first eyes on my blog entries + personal notes from me.

Ferg, another Scot who never believed in resting too much. (Christmas 2018)