Sometimes Rest Is Enough
There is a word I've been carrying around lately.
Productive.
It's an ordinary enough word. I've used it countless times without giving it much thought. I've had productive mornings, productive weeks, productive afternoons in the studio. I've looked around at freshly dyed wool drying on racks, rolags stacked and ready to be photographed, orders packed for the mail, and felt the deep satisfaction that comes from having made something with my own hands.
“I think the trouble begins when productivity stops describing what we’ve done and starts describing what we’re worth.”
I like making things. I like finishing things. I like looking back at the end of the day and seeing tangible evidence of where my time went.
But somewhere along the way, I made something can quietly become I was productive.
And from there, it isn't very far to I was productive, therefore I have value.
Whatever it is, the way you tell your story online can make all the difference.
That's the part of the word that has begun to itch.
We live in a world that requires production. As much as I would sometimes love to flit and frolic through a field all afternoon, eventually something needs to be done. Things need to be grown, collected, mended, built, cooked, reworked, and sold. Bills need to be paid. Apparently, Dominion Energy remains stubbornly opposed to accepting creative fulfillment as legal tender.
So this isn't an argument against productivity. Work has value. Making has value. There is satisfaction and dignity in doing something well, whether that's dyeing a beautiful skein of yarn, repairing something that was broken, tending a garden, caring for someone, or simply completing the ordinary work that keeps a life moving.
I think the trouble begins when productivity stops describing what we've done and starts describing what we're worth.
Because if being productive makes the day valuable, what happens on the days when very little gets done? If making something gives us value, what happens when we make nothing at all?
I've been unpacking my own relationship with those questions. Along the way, I've also learned how important rest is, both physically and mentally. I've learned that creativity needs room to stretch its legs. When I step away from the constant doing, something opens. The space becomes vast and expansive, and somewhere in there, I'm convinced, is where the creative fairies live.
“Rest shouldn’t always have to prepare us for something.”
But there's another trap hiding there.
We can make rest productive, too.
Rest so you'll have more energy tomorrow. Take a break so you'll work more efficiently. Go for a walk so you'll think more clearly. Sleep enough so you can perform at your best. Take a vacation so you don't burn out.
Before long, rest becomes another ingredient in the Productive Recipe, squeezed somewhere between work and more work because we've been assured it will improve our output.
I'm beginning to think rest deserves better than that.
Rest shouldn't always have to prepare us for something. It shouldn't have to earn its place by making us more creative, more focused, or more productive afterward. Sometimes rest can simply be the lusciousness of a midday nap or the softness of lying beneath the sky and watching clouds wander past.
There doesn't always need to be an outcome.
Maybe that's why rest and boredom seem to hold hands so easily. Both create empty space in a world that is very good at filling every available corner. There is always another notification, another task, another email, another thing we could be doing. Even our leisure can become busy.
Boredom asks almost nothing of us.
At first, that can feel uncomfortable. The mind searches around for something to grab. A phone. A task. A problem that could probably be solved if we just thought about it for another few minutes.
But if we leave the space empty long enough, something changes.
Sometimes an idea wanders in. A color combination appears from nowhere. A question surfaces that we hadn't known we were asking. Perhaps one of those creative fairies finally gets a word in.
And sometimes nothing happens at all.
That matters too.
Because if I say that rest is valuable because it makes me more creative, I haven't really escaped the problem. I've simply found another way to make rest prove its usefulness. I've asked the nap to justify itself. I've asked the clouds to produce something.
Maybe they don't have to.
I'm not even sure rest exists on a schedule. Sometimes twenty quiet minutes can feel enormous. Other times an entire weekend barely touches the tiredness we've been carrying. Perhaps rest has its own timetable and cannot be rushed. Perhaps the best we can do is learn to listen for it instead of measuring it.
I'm still learning how to do that.
I'm learning to enjoy the satisfaction of making without asking the things I make to prove my worth. I'm learning that work can matter deeply without becoming the measure of a life. And I'm learning to leave a little empty space around the edges of my days without immediately wondering what I should put there.
Maybe something beautiful will grow in that space.
Maybe the creative fairies will arrive.
Or maybe I'll take a nap.
I'm beginning to think that's enough, too.