Joy in resting

Upon arriving from work and feeding the dogs, I jumped to my bed and rested for almost four hours. Nothing more rewarding than lying down and surrendering to the dying busy hours similar to how the birds suspend their migration (or the hell they are doing up there). No pressure. It is just the evening insisting on its dominance.

I have not been writing any personal, serious entries since graduate school kicked in and my deliverables mixed up with work. One thing became clear, though, education remains my priority, not necessarily work. And that I can easily set aside my meditative journaling too.

You can say that I take it for granted. But, in essence, it just appears to me that I invested enough confidence and trust into it. Whenever I come back and the reasons I am writing again, I can do without a doubt.

As I draft this, I feel at home again. Such is the difference when I write for myself. I am enjoying a piece of new music from Clairo, which dropped a few minutes ago. Drawing parallels, the new album, and my writing both celebrate simple joys and depressing realities. Not the grand feeling of a new job or a promotion but from the safe sensation of coming home whole and warm. From receiving loud welcome notes from nine dogs that disturb the neighborhood yet affirm how much you are loved. And in enjoying the in-between hours when you can still cultivate good, rewarding habits that do not destroy you as much as social media do.

I turned 22 last month. This time, a lesson I tell my family and close friends is this: let go of expectations and allow life to surprise you at stops you planned and did not intend. And the practical value of being inconsistent sometimes.

I learned there are times when it is better to break your self-held patterns in place of resting and taking life lightly. There is always another task adding up or replacing one. You can obsess over the ticking cycle or let go of them for now. There is joy in resting.