Coasting

“Is it getting heavy? Well, I thought it was already as heavy as can be.” - The Flaming Lips (Image by israelbest)

Vacation, a holiday, time off. For me, it used to mean travel. A complete disruption of routine. An opportunity to explore something new.

What does it mean when I’m stuck at home? There’s no travel. The routine persists. Exploration is limited — so is the new and novel.

As a teacher, I tend to have a lot of opportunities for time off. This year, I’ve greeted most of them with, “May as well get some work done.” There’s been so much to do and so little energy for accomplishing it, so the extra time has been helpful.

These days leading up to the new year are no different. I’ve got some stuff I’ve got to do because not all of my projects are closed down this week, and I’m making my way through them. Would I rather be somewhere warmer, or with loved ones, or even just poking around in an antique shop? Yes.

But do I still need a break? Yes. And I’ve realized what that means for me, even when I can’t go anywhere or completely disconnect from my responsibilities.

What I’ve chosen to do is coast. I’m not pushing myself in any way. I’m not keeping a schedule. I’m letting things take as long as they take, giving the energy and attention that feels comfortable in the moment.

Normally, my workdays during the pandemic require an extra boost. I have to summon the will to get out of bed just a little earlier, to start a task that feels daunting, to compress effort and focus so that I can accomplish a specific thing by a specific time. I challenge myself to do more than is comfortable, to push harder than I want to.

Some days I find the flow. That’s when the tasks in front of me match my energy and mood, and I am in alignment with the pace and intensity required to achieve my goals. However, since the pandemic began, these experiences are less frequent. The work often feels like work instead of an irresistible playground.

It sounds like burnout, doesn’t it? But I’m not burned out in my career. I believe that it’s a distortion created by the pandemic, when even such simple errands as going to the grocery store or the post office feel like an uphill climb, and things that would normally bring lightness, like a plane flight to a beloved cousin’s wedding, carry a weight that renders them impossible.

Therefore, in these liminal days, I’m coasting. I’m not trying. There are no alarms on my phone, no grand plans to carry out, no pushing, no stretching.

Beyond the strictly necessary, I’m allowing myself to do what feels easy and natural. If it doesn’t feel that way, I will either wait until it does or skip it.

And when I reach the end of the day, I reflect on the peace and calm I feel, not how productive I was.

This is not the holiday I would have chosen for myself. There’s still too much work and not enough fun. It would be nice to have an afternoon in the sun in some warm place, or even a dinner out where someone else can do the dishes. But I can accept and appreciate my present reality for what it is. I can make the most of it. Right now, that means to do the least.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go do nothing until I feel like doing something.