I used to measure my days by what I got done. Crossed off, checked off, got clean. My worth lived in the output.

Then my back decided it had other plans, and for a long stretch, doing anything wasn’t really an option.

I won’t pretend that was easy at first. I’m a builder by nature. There’s always a project, always something I love working toward. That part of me hasn’t gone anywhere, that part of me is the part of me that I love the most.

But somewhere in the forced stillness, something shifted. Turns out rest isn’t just the thing you do so you can get back to the doing. It can just be the thing.

And look, I’ve spent some time from depression lying around not doing ANYTHING and that’s not what I’m talking about either.

I’m talking about happily and contently choosing to do nothing even knowing that there’s plenty of somethings I could do.

I’m still me. Still have things I’m working on, things I care about, things that light me up. But now I can also sit in a quiet room with a snack and my dogs and absolutely nothing on the agenda and genuinely mean it when I say that’s enough.

That took me longer to learn than it should have. But I definitely learned it recently.

Btw…I’m typing this from my lounge chair admiring the Crepe Myrtle’s blooming above me. 🤍