Audio version:
Rest has become one of the truest practices of my life. I’ve built it in slowly, the way you’d plant something tender, a little soil, a little patience, and then the quiet surprise of watching it grow into something you can’t imagine living without.
The benefits keep calling me back. The pause before reacting. The sour exchange that slides off my shoulders instead of moving in and setting up house. The way my body tells me what’s true before my mind has caught up. That, I think, is how a new ritual takes hold and you feel its benefit in real time, and the feeling itself becomes the invitation.
But sometimes life doesn’t wait for you to be horizontal to rest.
This past week was one of those. I was ready for it, excited even, helping our son prepare his backyard for his wedding, spreading five yards of bark mulch across our gardens on the Cape before the weeds claimed everything, then flying to Florida with David for a quick check-in with my Mom. I said yes to all of it, and I knew going in that the kind of rest I usually rely on wasn’t going to be possible this week.
So I leaned on other things.
A small note before I share them: this isn’t a blueprint for a life lived constantly on the run. That’s not the way to invite calm into your life, but there are stretches when the world calls, and you want to meet it with your whole self, without leaving your nervous system in the dust behind you.
Here’s what I reach for in those weeks.
Begin with something that’s yours. Before the day takes you, give yourself something first. For me lately, that’s a short Tai Chi practice, 7 to 15 minutes, depending on what kind of time I have. YouTube is full of them. The point isn’t perfection; it’s a small private offering to yourself before the world begins making its asks. A reminder that you exist before the to-do list does.
Hydrate. Generously. A big water bottle stays with me all day. When I’m working outside, I add a sleeve of LMNT for the electrolytes. It sounds basic, and it is — but a body holding the heat of a long garden day is a body that needs more than usual. Drink before you’re thirsty.
Drop into your senses. When you’re here, be here. I have a long history of worrying, a habit I am genuinely done with, and the most reliable doorway out of that worry loop is the present moment.
The feel of soil. The way the wind moves through the marsh grass. The scent of cedar mulch settles into the beds. Using the five senses, which are available always, asking nothing of you but your attention.
Get on the ground. Literally. I spent so much of last week sitting in the dirt or on the grass laying mulch, shaping borders, planting things. There’s something about the earth meeting your body that does some of the work rest usually does. It’s not a substitute, but it’s a close cousin. Your nervous system will thank you for this connection.
Listen to your body. It is the truth-teller. Know when enough is enough, and celebrate what you actually accomplished — not what you imagined you would. Don’t second-guess the moment your body tells you that’s it for today. There’s a quiet wisdom underneath everything we think we should be doing, and the more I listen to mine, the more I trust it. It hasn’t been wrong yet.
That’s really it. Nothing fancy. Just the small things that keep me tethered when the week refuses to slow down, and the reminder that even on the full days, you can still come home to yourself in small, ordinary ways.
From my corner by the sea, with love. ❤️
