I live in the same town I grew up in, a bicycle ride away from my childhood home.
There's something really nice about that. It's nice to feel rooted in the patch of earth where I spent those magical, hazy years called childhood. This is my place. This is my home. And yet... living in a context that is familiar to you makes you question fewer assumptions about it. Today, I am thinking about the American value of work. I think hard work is important. I also think rest is important. Yesterday and today, I have been resting and resting and resting. I have spent most of the time in my pajamas in my bed alternating between reading Sherlock Holmes and Eat, Pray, Love, watching online TV, and surfing the 'net. Sometimes I change it up and lay on the couch, sometimes I wander into the kitchen for a cup of tea or a snack.
In any case, these things are only the very start of rest. Because sometimes you have to be rested in order to rest.
I can so relate to this lately. I'm generally a "go go go" kind of girl, and have been for YEARS without ceasing. I've been living much more slowly this past month, and it's difficult. But a gift.
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