It’s been a few weeks since I’ve written anything. Real, ordinary life has been full lately. Full of long to-do lists at work. More kid-related activities and appointments. More family gatherings. And a heaviness I’m carrying for a friend going through a really hard thing.
It’s during times like these that I’m especially drawn to slowness. To say no to additional claims on my time and energy. To resist the urge to be constantly productive. To seek moments of peace and rest. To contemplate the vastness of the earth and how my little life is just one small part of something ineffable.
I’m reading two books right now. Rest Is Resistance: A Manifesto by Tricia Hersey is filling up my thoughts a lot lately—the idea that resting, slowing down, and literally sleeping is an act of resistance against capitalism, patriarchy, and white supremacy. The book is really interesting and inspiring, and written in such an inviting and soothing voice that I am often lulled to sleep as I read. I think this is the kind of book where nodding off while you are reading it is actually the point. The author would probably be pleased to know it’s leading me into more daydreaming and more sleeping.
The other book is fiction: The Ten Thousand Doors of January by Alix E. Harrow. It’s a gorgeous magical realism story about a girl who discovers doors that open to other worlds, a family unwillingly separated, and the freedom in discovering you have the power to chart your own course. I just finished it a couple days ago and I’m still resting in the afterglow of the storytelling.
Lest you think I’m somehow one of those people who uses all my free time to luxuriate in books and quiet contemplation, I think I should set the record straight. My house is not usually very quiet. Tonight, for example, my kids were running around the circle of our one story rambler and every time they crossed paths they would scream at the top of their lungs. When they weren’t doing that, they were whining about being bored or complaining about dinner. Or begging for me to buy them Pokémon cards. Meanwhile, I found rotten chicken and an onion so moldy it almost looked like experimental art in the back of the refrigerator. Now the kids are in bed, so the house is quiet for the moment. As soon as my husband emerges from the kids’ bedroom, we’ll be heading downstairs to watch Season 2 of The White Lotus. That’s a pretty ordinary Sunday evening. Not particularly poetic or idyllic.
And of course there are all the things I’m not writing about, because afterall this is a public newsletter and not a private diary. Life is complex, full of hidden sorrows and delights. And also sometimes really boring.
But I think that’s the point I’m trying to make with this Substack anyway. Each day is full of so much ordinary living, highs and lows and the mundane in between. Through it all, I’m trying to adjust my rhythm to slow and steady when I can. To stretch out moments of calm and reset my mind to face whatever comes next.
I love this poem by David Gate. He posted it on Instagram earlier today and I’ve been pondering it this evening.
"So the rhythm of nature matches the rhythm of your life remembering you are nature as well"
Mmmm. Yes. I love that.
Quiet time is over… time to go watch an angsty drama for entertainment.
I hope you’re finding rest in the midst of whatever your life looks like right now. Even if it’s just for a few minutes at a time.
Thanks for reading,
—NK
Loved your musings and loved the poem. What a great metaphor to live like the lapping of the ocean and movement of the tides.