This last weekend I had a solid 60 hours to myself.
Well, mostly anyway, sparing the three, eight hour days of doing a Trauma-Informed Yoga Teacher Training.
But even then, I did more listening and less talking. More reflecting and less doing.
Quiet. Still. Reflective.
Alone in my head space.
At night, having had the great fortune of being offered an entire (lakefront) house free of charge to stay in for the weekend, I returned back to the quiet to sit, write, reflect and just. . . be alone.
No kids wanting food and attention. No roommate to laugh with. No other glass to clink in celebration of a happy day.
Just me. And my words. And my sh*t.
It was weird. Uncomfortable. Quiet.
People. I wanted people.
Oh, I tried inviting friends to come with me beforehand. “I’ve got a training in Tahoe at the end of May,” I had said. I knew I would be busy from 9-5, but have a lunch break and then the entire evening off every day so friends could easily go play during the day and then we could do stuff when I was done.
I tried this with three friends. None of them could come.
I took it as a sign that I needed some alone time. I consulted my Google calendar to confirm this. It indicated that I have exactly one free weekend between June 4th and the middle of October.
One. And then right after that it gets all color coded again.
Clearly, it was a good time for me to take a hot minute to myself.
So I did.
At lunch, when the other teachers went to dine together, I came to the house and wrote.
When class was over at the end of each day I went for a walk, touched the water, did handstands in the sand, saw nature, tried my very best to leave social media behind, and checked-the-hell-out. I sat in the hot tub for two hours listening to my favorite playlist. I read a book. I caught up on my writing.
I watched zero television, was informed of no actual newsworthy events, and disengaged from conversation after 7 pm each day.
It was. . .
Yes, even for me. Sitting in silence is not my thing. I think meditation is great, but I struggle to actually do it. When my weekend calendar looks skimpy (as in, “just” two or three events) I immediately fill it in with people and things and motion.
Go. Go. Go.
And go some more. Movement and interaction energize me.
But not this time.
This time I stepped out of the fray, way out. And it was good. I feel recharged. Rested. Restored.
The messages: sometimes it’s good to go slow, you can’t keep draining the tank without ever stopping to fill up again, and, uh, that whole axiom thing about balance. You know. . .
“Exercise and rest are essential to human health.”
Sigh. There’s a reason it makes the list of the seven yoga axioms—it’s true.
Ironically, a lack of motion is allowing me to move forward, full force, from this point. Today I feel empowered and prepared instead of exhausted and behind.
I’m ready to be present with my friends and family instead of concerned about deadlines, missed appointments and preparation for upcoming events.
Here. I’m ready to be here. Right now.
The Gift of Presence.
Author: Michelle Sweezey
Editor: Renee Jahnke
Image: Freda Nichols/Pixoto
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