busy stillness
January 26, 2012 § 2 Comments
I am learning to set aside distractions and create stillness from restlessness with action; repetitive and mindless movements that free my mind while centering my body. Yesterday, as apprehension marked the minutes of my morning, I drew myself into activities that required solitude and movement to better gather my thoughts with clarity.
Unable to sit still and unfocused, I set my car keys aside and switched off the coffee maker. I wanted to run towards distractions and away from home to keep concerns at bay, instead I ran intentionally into distraction. I shed my tension on a treadmill, allowing my body to move with the same endless repetition as my thoughts circling familiar fears. Forward I pushed, gaining strength and sweating uncertainty. I wish I had found this path earlier in life, the physical, mental, and emotional calm that comes when I exercise my demons rather than hiding behind unproductive business.
When I could walk, run, move no more I eased into the quiet comforts of stretching my thoughts and muscles in unison. My heart and mind purged of apprehension and uncertainty, I was left only with feelings of strength and stillness. I looked around and determined I would keep busy with simple acts at home and try to maintain my sense of peace.
I made myself lunch, sitting to eat; completed minor housekeeping tasks to lighten my chores; straightened up corners of our home to make room for time together at the end of the day. When at last it was time for a mid-day meeting, I toted my patience and sense of calm to keep my company.
None of this is revolutionary. Running, meditating amid quiet movements, self-care and homemaking are simple over-looked gestures of affection, generally shaded with expectation and necessity. Prioritizing myself and my home in moments of anxiety was so wildly unassuming and indulgently satisfying that I am hoping to structure more time to set aside errands for stillness and small gestures of care.
scribblechic 
Love posts like this. Reading it was like having a friend drape her arm around your shoulder and guiding your attention by saying, “Stop. Look at this,” thereby helping you stop and see what’s always there but is often overlooked.
I hope sharing my thoughts holds me to this experience.