#93: Well, this is different.
Getting the most out of doing nothing.
The Luminist is a reader-supported publication that illuminates the pain, the pleasure, and the paradox on the path to technicolor living. Subscribe below to receive posts about how loss teaches us to get the most out of life (along with silly gifs) in your inbox every Saturday.
The lull rolled in with the August heat.
Connor, Kendall, and I found ourselves sitting on the gray sectional, watching the Olympics on mute and sharing any thought that crossed our minds.
“You look like you belong in a monastery.” Connor quipped.
Kendall half-heartedly rolled her eyes, white compression bandage encircling her head, keeping the chubby cheeks of post-wisdom-teeth-extraction at bay.
“I think you mean a convent, dude, that’s where nuns live.” I replied.
"Oh, oops, yes then that's what I mean." he responded.
“I’d terrorize the men in a monastery!!” A semi-drugged Kendall thrust her finger in the air and proclaimed, sounding like she had mouth full of marbles.
"Yes, indeed you would." I shook my head. "Those poor things."
We are in a time-warp bubble. Everyone is home. No one has much to do. I can’t remember the last time we spent this much time sitting around all together. Well, I guess that would’ve been during COVID, but this time we’re actually enjoying it.
My entire adult life has been speed-walking (still an Olympic sport!) from one achievement to another.
It's been a rich, rewarding life. For a while, it suited me. It suited us.
But that season has passed, at least for the time being.
Now I find myself intentionally pumping the brakes. No pressure to accomplish. No outcome to chase down. Just a lot of being, joking, eating, napping, laughing, gently mocking each other's foibles and picking congenial fights when no one takes out the trash. A lot of space for big hugs and the occasional kiss on the head… for no reason at all.
I talked a couple weeks ago about how pausing is a necessary part of integration. The integration has mostly run its course, but I’m still pausing because it just feels so damn good.
Imagine a skipping stone. It bounces along the surface of the water, spinning so fast it's practically flying. It goes far, but the progress is all superficial. It’s not until the stone finally slows down that it has a chance to sink. It slips below the surface and settles on the bottom of the river. Life flutters above it — minnows darting to the surface to slurp up bugs, and then darting back down to avoid birds; leaves getting caught in eddies; bumble bees dipping down for a drink. The rock isn’t in motion itself, but in its stillness, it's able to take in all the details. Action has been traded for observation, progress has been traded for depth.
When I was young, I wanted to be an anthropologist. But as soon as I figured out it wouldn’t make me any money, I set my sights on economics and never looked back. However, this lull has allowed me to return to my love of noticing and delighting in the details. My children, the way they have changed and the way they are exactly the same. My home, the cozy corners I’m drawn to with a book or binoculars. Myself.
A fear of death motivates us to extend our lives, even at the cost of our daily enjoyment.
A relationship with death does the opposite. It teaches us to revel in every moment we have.
Spending six hours a day talking about nothing with your family might sound monotonous — it did to me, once.
But that’s when I judged everything by its productivity. Was it moving the needle forward? No? Not worth my time. That strategy got me far in life, so I won’t bash it. But a well-lived life means balancing ambition with the other end of the spectrum — lingering in the moments of normality until your eyes adjust and you can see the richness lacing every mundane detail.
The way Connor slips on Kendall’s electric blue crocs and rushes out to help me carry in the groceries, with a hearty hug and a ‘I got this, Ma!’ How Kendall delights over her friend’s tiktoks, passing the phone across the couch to show me, endlessly loyal and cheerleading. The white-speckled baby deer outside my back door, eating the low, soft leaves while butterflies flit around her head, disturbed from their nectar seeking. The pattern of purple flowers and spiky grasses lining the curve of my driveway, a carpet surrounding the flourishing magnolias reaching up to the sky.
I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever go back to a faster pace. I’ve learned enough since being body slammed by loss to not pretend I can predict the future. No ‘never again’s or ‘over my dead body’s here. The human mind, pattern-recognition machine that it is, has a habit of finding one way and immediately denouncing all others. But maybe variety should be the goal, range the point, and adaptability the key.
Life is not about finding The One Way and ignoring all else in its pursuit, whether that be happiness, success, security, or peace. Because that means we’ll always be seeking, believing that just around the next bend we’ll reach the Promised Land and finally start enjoying ourselves. But if we can embrace the period we find ourselves in — from grieving to relaxing, from achieving to receiving, from pilgriming to couch-potatoing — living will transform from an end result into an ongoing experience.
It doesn’t actually matter if we are the skipping stone or the still, sunken rock as long as we are fully immersed in whatever this moment has to offer.
Lazy and loving it,
Thank you.
A lovely reflection! I'm glad you have been able to take some time to relax. Slow living is the best!