Note: I’m taking a break from the Gentle Rewilding series to go to the ocean (see more on making space for what matters below). If you’d like to catch up on the Gentle Rewilding series – an exploration of ways to reconnect to our human design – you can find them below. I’ll resume with Gentle Rewilding of Hips on Sept 28.
* Find Part 1 – Gentle Rewilding & Feet here.
* Find Part 2 – Gentle Rewilding: Hands here.
* Find Part 3 – Gentle Rewilding: Spine here.
* Find Part 4 – Gentle Rewilding: Shoulders here.
“I'm actively practicing not doing in August because it's a muscle that no one will encourage me to workout. And it will atrophy without strengthening it periodically. Not doing is some of the hardest doing I (and my clients) ever do, so it requires training. And the reason I do it is because that's where I get bored, creative, lost, wander from what's known, find my answers and inspiration.”
~ Lael Jepson, on taking the month of August off for the past 10 years
My Strength Training notebook: Just like 3rd grade, I have no margins.
When I was a kid, my school notebooks drove my Dad to distraction. I filled every page of every notebook to the very edges. Every line. No margins. Even in third grade, I left myself no space.
Thanks to our pervasive achievement culture, I get sucked into the illusion that the more I do, the more worthy and deserving I’ll be and the better I’ll feel. Living with little to no margins makes me a productive little soldier of patriarchal capitalism, but it’s relentless. There is always ALWAYS something more to do. Living with no margins may meet with the approval of our culture, but it is not thriving.
Intellectually, I know this: trying to suck all the juice out of life sucks all the juice out of life. Trying to schmush everything into a too small space feels cramped and indecipherable. As uncomfortable as it often is, though, I know I get a rush from all that doing: a hit of adrenaline that is oddly addictive. That adrenaline becomes my drug of choice and I resist making space and doing less. I resist relaxing.
A recent episode of the We Can Do Hard Things podcast explored this very tendency. Amanda, one of the podcast hosts and high powered, super-smart lawyer, had been challenged by her co-hosts (who are also her sister and sister-in-law) to incorporate relaxation habits into her days. They gave her a list of things to try – taking a walk, meditation, breathing practices, a cold plunge – and then asked her to report back a month later. At the end of the month, she’d done none of it.
Her sisters were gobsmacked, but I completely understood.
If someone I cared about had given me a list of relaxation practices, the only difference would have been that I would have done all of those things like they were my JOB. Relaxation would have not figured in at all – only getting those things done. Amanda just took a different route to the same place by not doing them at all.
I am not ignorant of my margin-less tendencies. I do see myself doing it and yet somehow feel powerless to stop it.
Last week, I’d been exhausted every day yet kept powering through. Friday was my day “off” but I’d scheduled it to the gills. I was planning to do strength work, then to work on shopping and cooking to fill the freezer for our upcoming trip, then to play pickleball to work on my serve and my backhand, then back home to work on classes for next week. I felt numb and spent but I was going through with my plan anyway.
As I hurriedly got ready, my beloved asked if I wanted to go for a walk in the woods. Sigh. I told him I wanted to but no, I couldn't because of all the things I wanted to get done.
He knows me and didn’t question it. He kissed me and walked out.
As he walked out the door, my heart nearly caved in. What was I doing? Saying no to a walk with him? I’d felt flat and tired all week but my default when feeling that flatness is to rev up and do more. Part of me felt safe in all the doing but another part knew clearly this was not a great choice.
I sat with my feelings, felt the ache in my heart and asked myself, what do you want? I want to go for that walk.
A text canceled pickleball. I jumped in the car and drove to the park. I knew he was doing the loop hike that we love but didn’t know which direction he went, so I parked, jumped out of the car and started running.
I was either ahead of him and therefore running away from him or he was coming the other way and I was running toward him. I had no idea. I stopped breathless a couple of times realizing how ridiculous it was to think I could find him in the woods. He could be anywhere. But there was something about shaking myself out of the stupor of doing things efficiently and for a reason. I just kept running.
Up and down the hills. Over rocks and roots. Through a thousand spider webs. And then, there he was. Looking at me with shock. "What the hell?" he said as I threw my sweaty arms around him and told him how stupid it was to say no to a walk in the woods with him.
He took it in his unflappable stride as I sweated and cried all over his shirt. I wiped my eyes, kissed him a dozen times and we had a lovely walk in the late summer woods.
I would love to tell you that I am now cured of living with no margins. I would love to give you a rom-com ending about how I’ve strung up a hammock, thrown out my To Do lists and sip iced tea all day. That hasn’t happened.
But I am asking myself different questions about what I’m doing and why. I’m looking carefully at how I spend my time and wondering about different ways of doing things. And ways of not doing things.
If you, too, are a recovering No Margins person, I’d love to hear about your experience. If you aren’t, how is it to be with the No Marginers in your life, incomprehensible as we are. Do leave a comment and help us all navigate achievement culture without missing what matters. In the spirit of margin making, I will be traveling next week, contemplating how a less-squished life might look. I’ll keep you posted.
