permission to loaf
it’s good for you!//work in process 54.
Happy first day of summer! To celebrate, our practice this week is surrender.
If your kids are out of school and footloose for the week or month or what feels like forever, you’re probably noticing different work patterns creeping in—or maybe a complete lack thereof.
Same!
Every day is different. Of course this is always true, but most of the time we can trick ourselves into thinking we have some semblance of control over our days. We know how and when to make space for creativity, movement, stillness, silence, and focus. In summer, though, all bets are off. It’s like playing 52-card pick up with your schedule. Toss everything into the air and see what kind of weirdness rains down!
Last week I was grumpy. Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE summer more than any other season. I love the gorgeous golden mornings in the garden when the wild grasses are backlit by the rising sun. I love the long evenings sitting on the porch, and everything in between. But I was having trouble concentrating. Trying to write with teenagers in the house is like trying to write with toddlers in the house, only their bodies are bigger and their needs are more complicated and there’s so much scrolling.
After the third day, I announced to my daughters that they needed summer projects. Something that did not have to do with either school or their competitive sports, college apps, social media or online shopping. A new hobby or interest they were curious about or wanted to try, with no pressure to perform. “Poetry or investing!” I suggested. “Guitar, pickleball!”
I recalled fondly how when we were young, summer was a perfect time to embark upon odd follies and seasonal obsessions—like Zimm Zamm or Trivial Pursuit or Rollerblading. Kids need intrinsic interests to balance out all their responsibilities and pressures, something they care about, not an activity to pad their resumes but a vacation from the stress-factory of being a kid in America today.
My girls shot me dubious looks, like I was from olden times.
“Mom,” one of them said, “you need to go for a run.”
She was right. The next morning, I went up the mountain early, the way I used to do in summers when they were smaller, and when I got home I felt much better. They didn’t need projects. They needed to be teenagers.
I was down for some temporary rotting, but my writing days were still chopped up into little bits, like speed training or intervals. It took me five days to finish a chapter one word
at a
This week, I had a brilliant idea. I could leave the house to work. I could go to the library! I love libraries!
“I’m going to the library !” I announced self-importantly to the girls on my way out the door, even though I knew they didn’t care. I loved the way it sounded—so serious and writerly!
I rode my bike downtown. It was 90 degrees, and the reading room was dim and aggressively air conditioned. Also there was a strange smell, like mould or dirty socks. I sat down and unpacked my stuff. I needed water. Who would watch my stuff? I got up with my stuff and went to find water. When I came back, the smell was still there, and the room was even colder, like an icebox. I tried to write. Usually I can write anywhere, by which I mean, I’m happiest writing at home, or in nature, but can make do with airplanes, coffee shops, and pretty much any table any place. The library was quiet but had the wrong vibe. I packed up my stuff and rode my bike to the cafe up the street.
I set up shop on the porch. Somehow this felt wrong, too. It was sweltering even in the shade and the woman next to me wanted to chat. I lowered my head and kept at it. I just had to get - -
When at last I biked home, I saw my writing porch and felt immediate relief. It was shaded and quiet, and I knew exactly what to expect. The girls would come in and go out. The dogs would sniff and roam and wrestle about. I would write some words and then get pulled into something else. I would come back and write more words. I would keep coming back.
It reminded me of the time a few summers ago when I was finishing another book. I fantasized about going to a Zen residency at the foot of the mountains or decamping to the Franciscan monastery on the river for some peace and quiet. But I never even applied.
I knew this meant that the book wanted to be finished at home. I was supposed to be writing here, in dribs and drabs, in the heart of summer, in the center of my life.
My invitation to you this week is to surrender the unpredictability of summer days. Embrace it. Whatever you’re making, put summer into your work. Let it be your structure, inspiration, vibe. Use it as your form. The other day at our monthly meetup, I joked to my writer friend Marin that my next chapter would consist of
single
word
lines
We both laughed. That is a form of disappearing, Marin agreed.
TRY THIS: Work in different places. Go to the library! Ride your bike around town. Experiment with different mediums. Invent a new form. Make art like you’re rollerblading! Write like you’re swimming. Be weird and loaf a little. Rot productively!
After all, what’s summer if not the perfect time to turn lemons into lemonade!
Spots are filling fast at Mountain Flow Camp, September 5-8 at High Camp Hut, where we practice writing and moving with the mind of mountains. Join us to learn how to draw inspiration from the natural world and ideas from wilderness. We’ll be sharing easy, pleasurable practices you can do every day and everywhere to bring more flow, energy, and clarity into your life. Sign up with a friend and you’ll both receive $100 off your retreat fee. Register and reach out at the links below!
