The Freedom of Space and Pace.
I am fascinated by this new routine.
A day measured in moon cycles instead of minutes.
Who said one hour was the right amount of time for anything?
Prompted by a feeling of momentum and calm, I scoop up the cat and move to the big wicker chair. It is time to write.
I’m on sabbatical.
Sounds romantic and enviable, doesn’t it?
Well, to be honest, the first few weeks were awful.
I’ve stepped away from coaching clients and deliverables for a couple of months to create space for my first love, writing. I’m trying to live in“flow”, let go of my old identity and with it, the usual markers for productivity, effectiveness or effort.
To get over the squeamish feeling that this change gives me, I’m trying to slow down the hamster wheel of my mind. One Instagram influencer tells me that the secret to less anxiety is to break free of artificial constraints. I am not sure what that means but she gives us some homework. Follow your body and attune to the rhythm within you. No marching to anyone else’s drum. She insists that I put all the clocks in the drawer and tape over the part of my screen that shows me the time. My timing is to be based on my impulse to do something, or not.
I am to attune myself to my natural rhythm, not the imposition of an artificial 60-minute schedule.
My first response is a very strange kind of panic. What if I forget to eat? What if I miss something? What if I don’t have any impulses? How will I know it’s time to go to bed? What if I turn into a lonely, isolated sad creature? Ok, a little far-fetched, but fears are like that, irrational.
So I try it for 4 days.
The first morning I wake up too early, with a start and wonder why I slept through my alarm only to remember that I am supposed to sleep as long as I need. I drift back, eventually inspired to wake up again by birdsong - loud and raucous, so my first action of the day, which happens in some weird dreamlike state, is to imagine what these birds are squawking about and it makes me laugh. And that gives me the impulse to move. Rather than wait for Yoga to start on the hour, I begin my practice when a huge full-body yawn lets me know that I’m ready and sleep-satiated.
As I stretch, I lift my chin into the sky, curious to feel the morning rays. Ha. Sun salutations make more sense when they greet the sun instead of being wedged in at noon between “meeting with client” and “completion of the first draft”.
With the last pose and a feeling of calm, I pause to watch the fading full moon dip slowly into the horizon as she makes room for the steadily rising sun. This inspires me to ditch my long linear to-do list for a different system; I quickly make two columns, one for the projects that need to cede into the background to create space for the ones that should now emerge into the foreground, a system of rhythm and choice instead of linear insistence.
When did an hour become the measure of the day; the same unit of time given to eating, meeting, reading, problem-solving and exercising? My thoughts, creativity, caring, and communication are all forced to live within a tempo that is not mine.
I’m learning to listen for my rhythm and am finding that my greatest productivity comes from following impulse. When an inner energetic knowing says: “now is the time” I have learned to lean in.
Breakfast, lunch and dinner happen when I feel the first grumbles of being hungry. Sometimes I eat in the middle of the day and sometimes not at all.
Blogs came with the flash of an “ah-ha” caught in the moment, elaborated upon when they sink deeper into my awareness and finalized when I have a deeper sense of understanding. So much more enticing than the red colour-coded hours that were “reserved” for creative output and screamed, “Do it now!” I sleep when I am tired, I talk to friends until I feel loved, I write as long as I am inspired, and I am surprised at how long I can sit and look at a tree.
It has been so long since I have experienced this freedom of space and pace.
I’m sensing that this is the secret mastered by those who retire well or who come back refreshed from a retreat. Transformation is less about what you do and more about the fluid state that you allow yourself to live in.
“Who am I now?” is hard to answer on a timeline. It is in retreat from the tyranny of scheduled time, that we find space to go deep into the question, to listen intently for the impulse of the answer. (And now I am guessing that is why we call them retreats. Go figure.)
The cat just woke up from her 3rd nap of the morning and moved onto my lap.
I’m no longer afraid of being fluid. I like honouring myself in natural time. Prompted by impulse, want, and need, I am led by the muse within me.
By the fourth morning, I woke up gently with a new conviction. I am not willing to revert to the authority of the 60-minute time stamp. I want moon cycles, not minutes to guide my day.
I’m up for the challenge, how do I live with both the structure that this modern world exacts and the beauty of this moment, as I follow the impulse to nestle with the now purring cat?
p.s. Join me on retreat and sink into your own rhythm of awe and impulse! https://www.advivumjourneys.ca/retreats
