Leaning Into Stillness
From the Archives
September has always been a time for me to replenish my creative energy. Quiet Spaces, originally published on April 19, 2024, reminds me to lean into my need to be still in order to sharpen my senses. As I pause from my self-imposed deadline to write and publish something new, I’ve added a few “remember to’s” this week:
Touch the cool morning grass with my bare feet
Deeply breathe in the scents of the changing season
Notice how summer is turning into autumn
Feel deep gratitude for the space to pause, again and again
Imagine more dreams so they can come true
Thank you for sharing this space with me, quietly.
Quiet Spaces
Now I Know
From the Archives: April 19, 2024
I write today from my dining room table, sitting in the shadows of the wind. The tree branches sway in a delightful dance, skirted with tender new leaves. They seem to reach toward to the sun’s warmth as they emerge for a new season, preparing to offer me their protective shade and a breeze to relieve the summer’s heat.
I have come to cherish the quiet spaces of my days. I now feel as if I might wither without them. Pausing and being still is not just a luxury, but a necessity. I used to run from the stillness, taking pride in always being busy. I claimed to be an extrovert, refueling my energy from being with others, preferring a cocktail party with many to the intimacy of coffee with just one person. I had learned to think and speak quickly in order to be heard. Even on solitary walks, I was plugged in to a podcast, trying to maximize the efficiency of my time and to fill the space with external noise.
I have always been introspective and keenly self-aware, but only to a extent. There was a barrier of self-protection preventing me from going deeper into my soul. Now I know that I’m naturally introverted. My “extroversion” and “busyness” were really a cover story and an excuse, so that I wouldn’t have to be alone with myself to discover the parts that had been dimmed.
Out of necessity, the burden of that barrier fell from its own weight. The space of introversion was anything but quiet; it was chaotic and cruel at first. Until I learned what it really meant to “sit with” hard feelings and trauma from emotional neglect that silenced me. It’s still difficult to use those words, but it’s important to name it rather than explain it away.
All families are dysfunctional, so just get over it.
Don’t be so sensitive. Toughen up.
Everyone has a cross to carry.
Etc., etc., etc.
Now I crave the quiet spaces to think, feel, and wonder curiously about the petals that fall from the spring blossoms. To imagine and write stories of magic and secret boxes. To witness the breeze blowing through the bush. For no other reason than just to be.
I now know that I don’t enjoy as much the large networking events or parties. I can do them, certainly. And I’m quite good at working a room. But I’d rather sit in the back corner of my favorite coffee shop and hear a stranger’s story. I’d rather offer a supportive, knowing smile to a parent quieting their newborn as I walk through the park. I’d rather plant rosebushes with my sweetheart, few words necessary.
I missed the depth of these simple moments for so many years because I was so busy. As the spring season peaks, I will seek and embrace the quiet spaces. I will make room for them. I will listen to them. Because now I know.
With loving wishes,
Amy
Thank you for reading this archived post from Someday Is Now. I invite you to pause and be still, for just a moment, and really notice what you see, hear, feel, and smell. Listen to the messages you are meant to know.
"I missed the depth of these simple moments for so many years because I was so busy."
That resonates with me as well. Thanks for reminding us to embrace those simple moments.💜