Or rather, I took two days vacation alongside my regular two days off to create a sort of mini break for myself. And like everyone who heard I wouldn't be working for several days, the nagging question echoed in my ears...
What are you going to DO?
The ludicrousness that such a simple question could suddenly cause me to somewhat stress over what I should be doing made me stop and smack myself in the face so hard my cat sauntered over to lick my toes after my body made a loud thud, hitting the floor.
Why can't I allow myself the leisurely days of just Being without the social pressures of Doing?
Vacation wouldn't be vacation unless there were exciting photos taken to upload on my Instagram. And yet, having the luxury of Time to make my apartment clean and then just sit, enjoying the space, has felt like it's own sort of holiday.
I spend money on this lovely apartment and on the beautiful things that adorn it and then want to beat myself up for using time to enjoy it?
I felt this urge to go somewhere but not because I genuinely wanted to but because it seemed the thing to do. So come Monday when people asked me what I did I could confidently say, 'I went to the beach, I went for a hike, I went climbing and running and bird watching and on a scavenger hunt.'
Seems a much more thrilling answer than, 'I enjoyed my clean apartment, playing with my iphone and sitting with my cat.' That's just not what people want to hear.
But if in that moment, that was my desire, why did I feel guilty about its simplicity?
I even rescheduled a coffee date because I just wanted to be alone.
And as an extravert that seems a sin to say.
And yet the only time I create, is when I'm alone.
Curious.
Because the times I'm creating anything I feel most alive.
Selah.
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