I might be only half kidding! I’d really love a break from the 2000s, though. The 1900s were definitely more my speed. At the same time, some important milestones happened in the 2000s – marriage, children, fulfillment of certain ambitions… – so those were really fantastic.
Still, I wish they had happened in a time and space that resembled the late 1900s, with food and other products having fewer questionable ingredients, technology being less intrusive, and certain people still being around, particularly my dad…
My sister and I always message each other our lamentations when we hear of another icon from our youth passing away. “There’s another one from our world. 😦 ” Our world, meaning a couple of decades ago and beyond. We’re GenX. We refuse to associate with this era because it’s rather… what’s a good word? Lame? Bogus?
That’s not to say it’s all bad. There are definitely some very good things about the present world, such as DNA technology (with some less beneficial consequences), medical advancements (with decided side effects), etc. If only we could keep all the good (especially the people) and keep all the negatives at bay. I suppose time and life just don’t work that way.
Nonetheless, I find modern living exhausting. It might be mostly my age, of course. Still, respite is an awesome and very welcome idea. Short of finding some supernatural time pocket or altogether departing from this world, which I don’t want to do, no matter how less idyllic it now is (of course, we didn’t think the “previous world” was idyllic at all when we were in the thick of it), I just have to ride out this day and age.
To survive, and perhaps even thrive, in it, I have to consciously indulge in breaks that will not only allow me to pace myself as I deal with my life and the world it is in, but restore my spirit, energy, and good humor, too.
The key is to find rest and comfort in small moments. If I’m always waiting for something significant and fancy like staycations and retreats, I’ll be burned out before they come around. Here are some examples of instances that give me a break from the daily grind.
Stepping out or even simply looking out at some greenery.
Spending time with an animal (either at home with a pet or with a random encounter in the wild – birdwatching counts).
Taking deep breaths.
Disconnecting and making myself inaccessible for a short period of time.
Resting my eyes (which could lead to a power nap).
Pausing to watch the shifting colors of the sky at sunrise or sunset.
Going into a bookshop to take five (could be a library, a garden, a coffee shop, an art gallery, a pretty park… whatever the soul enjoys).
Watching water – a fountain, the rain, a clean(ish) body of water…
Sitting back and letting the scent of something soothing or pleasing envelope me (the aroma of coffee, baking, flowers… a diffuser may be a good investment).
Taking a stroll, especially when my activity is mostly sedentary.
These options all involve short breaks that are easy and very much possible every day. It’s really a matter of intentionally finding zen in everyday chaos. Here are other good practices that support this mindset.
Seeking out quiet times and setting them aside for mindful and meditative moments.
Keeping a journal of positive thoughts and encounters, so I can be more aware of the good.
Minimizing social media visits to avoid certain unpleasant emotions like envy, frustration, scorn, etc.
Limiting news exposure to prevent being deluged by horrible happenings.
Creating a small cozy space that I can slip into when I’m feeling overwhelmed or wounded.
Do you have other tips or hacks for finding respite while going about a regular day? Please share!
*I’m also adding a short, related piece I had originally published on Medium. I’ve decided to delete my account to focus on this blog, so I’m migrating my content there to repost here.
Pockets of Respite — A Mother’s Key to Keeping on
How slipping into little mindful moments in the garden reinforces my grip on my marbles
“Finish your morning tasks, and then get started on your finger exercises,” I called out to my daughter as I carried a basket of dirty clothes to the laundry room. I passed through the kitchen where my two boys, both on the autism spectrum, were messing with things they liked to stim with.
My older boy had successfully hunted down the package of drinking straws that I normally kept hidden. He liked to connect the straws and then bite them. I typically gave him only three at a time. That morning, however, he had found the stash and had pulled all the straws out of the bag.
I dropped the basket and hurried over to salvage what I could of the straws. I wasn’t due for a trip to the store for a few more days, and it would be disastrous to run out of straws. I held in a growl as I repacked the still-good straws.
My son eyed me with careful attention, interested in finding out where my new hiding place would be. I temporarily shoved the pack on top of the fridge, making a mental note to move them when he wasn’t looking.
Meanwhile, my younger son who had been calmly running his hand through the uncooked rice in our dispenser suddenly decided to vigorously whip his little hand about, spewing grains all over the counter and floor.
“Aargh!” Stomping and snarling, I got the offender off the chair he’d been standing on and away from the rice so I could clean up the mess he’d made. Feeling bad for losing my temper, I gently reminded the little imp that he was supposed to be careful.
“Remember? Just slow swishes.” He looked at me with solemn eyes, echoing “swishes.” He understood what I was saying, but he’d have a hard time curbing the urge to send rice flying around once it struck again.
I thought about making him help me clean up, but I was already behind schedule, and my son’s “help” was really all training and no aid to me whatsoever. Feeling like a bad and lazy mother, I let my little boy scamper off scot-free.
While I was sweeping, my older son managed to drag a chair over to the fridge and was feeling around for the straws I’d placed on top of it.
“NO! You have enough. See?” I got the long line of straws he’d connected and handed it to him.
As he reached over, I noticed that his hand was black with grime from touching the top of the fridge. My face burned hot, realizing that the exterior of the fridge hadn’t been properly cleaned in almost a year.
“And it would have to remain uncleaned for now,” I snapped at myself as I marched my boy to the sink.
This made me come face to face with the stack of dirty breakfast dishes. My daughter should have dealt with them by then. I quickly washed my son’s hands, and headed back to my daughter’s room where she sat on her cluttered floor. She had a pretty long list of tasks, but it didn’t include drawing, which was what she was doing.
The impulse to scold and berate won out. In the middle of my lusty tirade, my youngest son came over with a pencil and a tracing book. Not giving two hoots to my sermon, he started tugging me away. Reluctantly, I followed him to the homeschool room, but not before I had made sure that his sister had gotten up to start on her tasks.
As I was beginning to enjoy my homeschooling session with my youngest, my phone buzzed. A quick scan told me that my editor had found a possible plot hole in the story I’d just submitted. I was all set to call her when my husband appeared at the doorway, crankily telling me to please deal with our older son, who had gone to his home office with a whole watermelon, asking for it to be cut open.
Yes, he was busy, but so was I. Seething with resentment, I got up to go to the kitchen and spotted the basket of dirty clothes. My shoulders slumped, but there were things to do, so I first cut up the watermelon and put the bite-sized cubes in a bowl. After that, I went to the laundry room and loaded the dirty clothes into the machine.
I felt exhausted. I’d been up since 4am. I woke up early to get ahead of the day, but it didn’t work. When you’re a mother, especially one with neurodivergent children, you’re Sisyphus perpetually struggling to push a boulder up a hill. Find an idle moment and your mind would tell you what a failure you are and how guiIty you should be. I caught myself starting to sink into this pity party and shook my head.
What I needed right then was to take a break. Some time away all by myself would have been lovely, but that was out of the question. Still, I needed a moment to relax and center myself. I might not be able to take a day off, but I did have a feasible alternative.
I squared my shoulders and went back to the kitchen where I found the boys eating watermelon, littering the floor with small black seeds. Their sister was also there, finally doing the dishes.
“I’m going to the garden,” I told my daughter. “Be back in a jiff.”
I stepped out of the house and walked over to my small garden. I could feel my spirits lifting almost instantaneously.
I loved seeing the gorgeous flowers and the vibrant foliage. The fertility, symbiosis, and resilience the garden represented comforted me. More than cheering me up and recharging me, this happy place also offered life lessons that made me see my situation from a different perspective. It helped me see past the chaos and hardship in my life and appreciate the blessings they tend to overshadow in the moment.
I sat in a garden chair and took it all in. Soon, I heard a screen door bang shut, followed by the pitter-patter of little feet approaching.
I watched my very curious and mischievous five-year-old squat down beside a planter to watch a caterpillar. “Don’t touch it,” I warned.
He reached out to poke it, the little rapscallion.
I saw him eyeing a mushroom.
“That’s not safe. Leave it alone.”
He yanked it out and, thankfully, just tossed it away.
I hurried over before he could get his hands on anything else. I held him and tried for the thousandth time to teach him about obedience. My son’s lucid gaze told me he understood the words. I just wasn’t sure if that understanding could be practical. No worries. I wasn’t frustrated — for the time being. My good humor had been restored. My store of patience had been topped up, and my attitude had been adjusted.
Hand in hand with my precious boy, I headed back inside. My short time in the garden provided a remedy for my flagging spirit. It also gifted me with an amusing new anecdote to share with my husband.
…Hi! I’m Ivy. My default is frazzled mom, and I usually deal with the chaos by writing all about it. I cover other topics too, and you’ll find my favorite ones to muse over at This Small Life.
This Small Life 