Diary of a Convalescent Soul

In the third book of the Gatekeeper trilogy, our heroine Anna Merritt has this conversation with her new friend, Sherry:

     “But how does the living get better?”
     “It does, Anna. I can’t explain it any better than that. The Trumans know just how to treat our unique strain of soul-sickness. For those of us who will keep on rushing headlong through life and are in grave danger of burning ourselves out, the Trumans prescribe the one medicine we find most dreadful: time.”
     Anna sighed and sat up. 
     “Time has always seemed rather like an enemy to me.”
     “That’s why you need this particular dose of time so much.” Sherry sat up also and gave her shoulder a friendly pat. “I fought and kicked and screamed through mine, but eventually, I found that time had become my friend. It’s a gift, and I am still learning how to receive and use it. A big part of it is learning to rest. You and I can’t stand being unproductive because it makes us feel worthless; accept that you’re moving at a slower pace and are still adding great value and beauty to the world just by living in it. Let go and learn to live in freefall.”

Hear me, future writers all: ’ware, ’ware the unwitting prophecy lurking in your own words.

When I penned the above, I thought I understood that of which I spoke. Time and I had already been “frenemies” for so long that I fancied myself an advanced student in the art of rest. I felt keenly for Anna as I chronicled her slow journey to recovery, but I believed I was writing from the other side, a cured soul with a clean bill of health.

Silly me.

I began 2018 with the blog series “How I Became an Author”. The penultimate post in that series describes the drastic changes we made in our home in order to pursue this dream: quitting full-time jobs, stepping down from artistic commitments, and moving several hundred miles north. Life shifted abruptly from a hectic dance, always almost spinning out of control, to a serene waltz. While uncertainties still abound, I am thoroughly enjoying this gentler version of the age-old three-quarter rhythm: “Rise, Work, Rest”. I teach, I exercise, I write; I cook, I eat and drink, I relax with my husband and our doggie boy.

And I LOVE IT.

Still, I’ve been starting to hear familiar murmurings in the back of my head – the once potent “Do More” voice, oft dethroned and ever seeking a new foothold in my soul. It’s so great that you’re living at this nice, sane pace, whispers the voice, but . . . isn’t it about time you finished resting and got up off your bum and started doing all the things again? How else can you know that you’re succeeding, or that you’re not going to become a lazy, self-absorbed waste of oxygen?

The Do-More voice is mean. I am NOT inviting it to my next garden party.

Still, it knows me well.

I wrote Sherry’s advice to Anna because it was a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again. I have spent my life running desperately to achieve as much as possible because I have often confused productivity with worth and exhaustion with success. When your sense of security comes from quantifiable accomplishments or logged hours of labor, it’s only a matter of time before you fall off the treadmill and break something. (Hint: it won’t be the treadmill.)

I fell off the treadmill many times before I chose to step off – or, rather, to turn the speed down to a more reasonable, maintainable jogging pace. All that falling took quite a toll, not to mention the long-term effects of the relentless pace itself. Muscles got weary, ligaments became strained, bones broke – but, I started decreasing the speed almost a year ago! So what if that year’s been full of transition and stress and what my mother likes to call “adventures”? (Everything in life is either a blessing or an . . . adventure.) So what if we just settled into this new home a few months ago and are still in the midst of all that “starting over” entails? Surely I’m fully recovered now. Surely my mind and heart and soul and sanity are all shipshape again. Recently, I’ve been wondering if the Do-More voice isn’t right: maybe it’s time to start pushing that “up” button again . . .

Thank heaven for the Hudson River, and sunny afternoons, and poetry.