Rest

Today, I finished painting the living room. This was a job I began last Sunday. I ended that day with sore muscles and a severe case of the grouchies. I was determined to do a better job with part two of my painting adventure this weekend.

Weekends always seem so spacious on Saturday morning. It feels like there is time for anything I can imagine. This was why I postponed picking up the paintbrush and took the dogs to the beach for a walk instead. How could a short delay hurt? After all, I had the entire weekend stretching out before me to finish my labors.

As it turned out, the universe had other plans than painting for my Saturday morning. My dogs discovered a lovely (and fragrant) rotting seal corpse on the beach, and managed to roll in it for a few minutes before I could drag them away from their bliss. The smell was . . . interesting. Needless to say, I did not return home to begin house painting. I engaged in an energetic bout of dog bathing and grooming instead.

I didn't face the blank canvas of my walls until around 1 pm. It was clear that I wasn't not going to "finish" anything that day, given my late start, and somehow this knowledge became a priceless gift. I made a wordless pact with myself: paint until you start to get tired or bored, then put the brush down for the day. I painted for a few hours, and before my muscles started to scream, wrapped up the painting supplies and called it a day.

This may not sound particularly important, but it was a significant departure from my normal behavior. When I take something on, I push through to completion, ignoring my body in pursuit of some elusive prize that seldom exists. Saturday, I listened to my body, and said "enough." Saturday, there was rest.

Today, Sunday, I awoke with the desire to finish what I'd started, and clear the chaos from the living room. I was surprised to notice that I was rested, and had no sore muscles, however, and realized that this was because I'd changed my pattern on Saturday. I'd listened to my body. I'd repeated my mantra "enough" and I'd meant it. So, I decided to pivot out of my usual push to finish, and see if I could enjoy painting my walls vs. having painted my walls.

On two occasions, I actually put the brushes down, and took a break. I picked up a journal. I brewed a cup of coffee. I noticed the sounds of the morning. When I returned to my labor, it was with a renewed sense of interest and energy. This is a new sort of pause for me. It is a pause that comes from listening to my body and feeling my way into the energy of an activity. It is is a pause that comes from realizing that saying "enough" is not a defeat, but a celebration of whatever moment I am inhabiting, a disassembled room littered with painting paraphernalia, or the sense of completion I feel from a job I have finished. One is not better than another. Both are enough.

If I can remember to listen to my body at work tomorrow, and know when to say no to "just one more email" and lean my head out the window instead, if I learned this from my weekend of painting and dog bathing, that will be worth more to me than my newly painted walls. May I remember the space between the brush strokes. May I trust the wisdom of my body. May I rest.