I didn’t write or post yesterday. It wasn’t because I had a bad day or even a hard morning. I have written or posted every day without fail for the last 400+ days. Yesterday, I had nothing to say. I was busy in my life and for the first time in a long time, didn’t want to write about it. I just wanted to live it.
It was harder than I thought to let go of my track record. I felt like I was letting myself down, you down and there was this part of me that was sure that if I didn’t write/post last night that I would never write or post again.
But here I am writing/posting so that is folly.
I learn so much from all the things I do in a day. Yesterday was a hard work day, lots of changes and sometimes I feel like I am barely keeping up. The Pandemic causing a lot of upheaval and at the same time crafting a new stability that largely disagrees with all that is expected and demanded from me. It is a weird fucking time. And world.
Yesterday I learned something from not doing it...
I learned that I don’t have to always do the thing. My overly developed sense of responsibility causes me to engage in this black and white thinking that gives no grace to me, no grace to you and creates no margin for error. Yesterday, I stayed in the day. I woke up and let the day unfold and was just present for it. I didn’t write about it or really do any of the things I usually do. Guess what? It was lovely. It didn’t cause me to wholly abandon my routine, it was just a lovely departure from the norm. I kind of felt like I was on vacation from myself while being more myself than perhaps I usually am.
Sometimes, I am learning, that not doing it gives way to a peaceful existence. Not doing it creates a gap for something new to come in. Not doing it allows for someone else to enter and expand my view, horizons and heart. Not doing it creates a freshness that doing it does not.
I am back at it today, having survived my existential crisis last night where I climbed into bed and realized that I hadn’t written or posted. Panic set in for a minute...then I realized that I had nothing that I needed or wanted to share. That the events of my day could just remain mine (the great and not so great). The day I had did not need to be shared, unpacked or dissected. I could just go to sleep. So I did.
What I got from not doing it was permission to just be who I am, living this life right in this moment. Being ok with how it is and how I am. Writing has given me so very much but not writing yesterday gave me something also. Actually several things:
1. Perspective on why and how I am writing.
2. Permission to deviate from the routine.
3. Permission to not have something to say.
4. A day that unfolded so beautifully and ended peacefully.
5. Imperfection as a practice.
6. An ability to stay present in the ever changing landscape of a day.
7. Feeling like I was in the stream of life instead of on the banks.
8. The ability to ride the waves of anxiety and fear without external commentary.
9. An earnest and sincere desire to return to my practice today.
10. A reconnection with something that I love. As absence, even for a day, can make the heart grow fonder.
Sometimes, not doing it is fantastic and creates new ground to do something new with an old behavior. And for someone who is always doing something, not doing it is actually quite freeing...who knew?
