Sunday morning, 0845, I opened my eyes and drew the curtains to wash the bedroom with late morning light. I slept until I felt like waking, made coffee, and then proceeded to lounge around in my robe and do absolutely nothing for the next few hours.
In our perfectionist culture that romanticizes the hustle and lambasts the “lazy,” we’ve lost touch with what it means to rest for the sake of rest. We feel the need to earn our rest, or worse yet—we have our rest forced upon us because we’ve neglected the nourishment of our bodies and souls. Because as many of us know all too well: you can choose to pause on your own terms, or the universe with knock you on your ass, eventually.
To live slow, with no qualifiers or justifications, is not as sexy as the relentless pursuit of “hustle.” Burnout has become a badge and everyone is “busy.” Sleeping in feels shameful. Doing nothing feels unproductive. Choosing ease feels like choosing easy. And as a result, we are more tired—more bereft of magic—than ever.
As for me, I stand in rebellion of hustle culture, and I choose ease instead. I refuse to believe that my worth as a human is somehow contingent on my levels of productivity. I’m done saying I’m busy. I’m done being perpetually exhausted. I’m here to rest as much as I work—maybe even more. To sit down before I’m forced to lay down. To sleep in on Sunday mornings. And if that’s what you need, I hope you are too.