A Balm of Peace
[Restlessness - XV]
Sometimes circumstance demands restlessness.
My friend Garret had a moment like that.
A few years ago, I woke up in the morning following a conversation with my father. He called my wife and me to bravely break the news that he had been diagnosed with cancer. As my groggy mind pondered the road my father was about to walk, as I considered that there was a near future without him, my bed began to acquire the gravity of 10 suns. My body was clung to the mattress, held there by my anxious, sad, scared, angry, frustrated, doubt riddled thoughts running loops in mind. I was immobilized. If I lost my dad, I wasn’t sure my heart could take it.
In moments of extreme gravity, we need a balance to restlessness. Not to nullify it. Not to deny it. But to address it with a potent, calming balm.
Garret's balm is the words of Jesus: “Peace be with you.”
Peace.
Peace to your mind that is racing.
Peace to your body seems chained to your bed.
Peace to your heart that is breaking.
It’s the spirit of this peace that is both the balm for his restlessness and the power that led Garret’s dad through his journey with cancer . . . and it is the same spirit that gives [my dad] peace as a cancer survivor for the last 5 years.
Shall We Dance?
[Restlessness - XIV]
There’s the restlessness that accompanies the discovery of who we are, what we are becoming, and the hope stirred in us as we wait for signs of our part in the emergence of a beautiful future.
It’s the restlessness of vocation.
Deep creativity.
Conviction for change.
Passion.
It’s the restlessness that comes with what Julia Cameron calls “the universe asking, ’Shall we dance?’.”
And then there's the restlessness that accompanies striving for something else—inauthentically me but fully "mine". It’s not the emergence of something beautiful but the constructing of a present that shimmers . . . but only on the surface.
It’s the restlessness of an image.
Advancement.
Often status.
Usually persona.
It’s the restlessness that is the result of what François de La Rochefoucauld calls the “ridiculous[ness] of what we pretend to be.”
The first is the restlessness of the soul.
The second is the restlessness of the ego.
The first, divine.
The second, not so much.
Poets Among Us
[Restlessness - XIII]
We have poets among us. Some sit on our shelves. And some sit next to us at work, the coffee shop, or the Sunday potluck—and we wouldn’t know it unless we asked.
I asked.
My friend, Sophie, delivered a beautiful verse about restlessness. She didn’t intend it to be a poem, but it reads like one.
An invitation interrupts [my restlessness].
Pay attention.
[Mary Oliver asks in her poem , The Summer Day,] “Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?
Her answer to that question is pay attention. To fall into the grass, be idle and blessed, and stroll through the fields. This sense of idleness grates against my unhealthy standards of productivity for myself [and others].
Yet it’s these unhealthy expectations that need interrupting. The practice of paying attention invites me to become aware without the expectation to fix it all immediately.
Pay attention—what expectations are making me feel scattered?
Pay attention—what am I trying to avoid?
Pay attention—what is my body telling me?
Pay attention—what is most important at this moment?
Pay attention. There is grace for me, if I don’t have the cultivated spirit of a poet…yet.
The invitation is still there for me, in this moment.
Visit it on Purpose
[Restlessness - XII]
I like what my friend, Shannon, said about restlessness. “[It’s] part of the wholeness of being human.”
It's so matter-of-fact.
And true.
And healthy.
Restlessness is not bad. Nor is it good. It’s a neutral, natural part of the human experience. As such, it has the potential to give or take, bless or curse, teach or silence, empower or weaken those of us that feel it.
"Maybe it is our approach to how we think about being restless, how we judge it that sets the stage for moving freely or not.” So, what do we do? Well, we do what any student with an appetite to learn does: spend more time with the teacher. "So if we understand that it is part of us and allow ourselves to hang out there for awhile, [we might find] out what it has to offer . . .”
I appreciate her prescription: "Maybe we visit restlessness on purpose each day for 5 minutes, it may be the fuel we need."
Opening for a Rock Star
[Restlessness - XI]
The rock star struts on stage to thousands of fans cheering his name. He could wear a pink silk shirt and dirty work jeans. The crowd cheers. He could have a raspy voice and miss half the notes. The crowd still cheers. He could stop singing all together. The crowd will finish his song and cheer when it’s over.
If the opener—the aspiring rock star that hasn’t made it big—wore a pink silk shirt, missed a note, and stopped singing, the crowd would definitely not cheer. They might even boo.
The crowd is restless. They paid. They want the star. Singing or not. Pink silk or not.
The opener is nervous and trying to negotiate authenticity and fulfilling expectations. The crowd paid, wants the rock star, and is impatient.
Restlessness is often the residual of impatience. Consequently, the crowd might miss the next rock star.
Nervousness is often the residual of fearing failure. The opener might miss this great opportunity.
The crowd and the opener are in us all.
Patience settles restlessness . . . that we might discover what’s new.
Ignoring the unreasonable expectations of others settles our nerves . . . that we might embody authenticity.
(The future rock star might even be in us, too.)
Weekly Roundup: Restlessness II
April 5 - April 9, 2021
Monday: Restlessness is often premature creativity. It needs to be addressed with alertness not antsy-ness. Attention not agitation.
Tuesday: Restlessness and impatience are twins, but there is third. Sometimes it’s anxiety, which causes the threesome to feel negative. But when the third is hunger, they’re positive.
Wednesday: Restlessness tells you a “golden thread” is afoot. It’s not literal; it might not even be physical. But it draws.
Thursday: My friend Willie is a farmer and he helped me notice something about restlessness: Peacefulness and restlessness are not mutually exclusive.
Friday: What do you get it you add the reflections of a good friend, a yoga teacher, and courage into a bowl of restlessness . . . and then stir? You get wisdom. Here’s some wisdom from my friend, Heather...
Are you interested in the whole reflection? Click on any day, and it will take you there.
Want to help grow the community of people like us that are unwilling to continue in ways like this? Help us spread the word: share on Facebook, Twitter, or with a friend via email. Find the links below.
Courage to Rest
[Restlessness - X]
What do you get it you add the reflections of a good friend, a yoga teacher, and courage into a bowl of restlessness . . . and then stir?
You get wisdom. Here’s some wisdom from my friend, Heather:
Were I ever to get a tattoo, it would be on the inside of my wrist and it would simply say the word “Enough.”
You see, at very few moments in my life do I feel that I am doing enough or that I am enough. This alone keeps me restless, feeling that if I just move onto the next thing, accomplish the next task, achieve the right goal, then maybe I will finally be enough.
My yoga teacher recently admonished us to “have the courage to rest,” and while I was momentarily unsure what that meant, I quickly realized that it is indeed courageous to calm the restlessness, to believe that you are indeed enough, to stop and to trust that it will be okay.
I don’t know yet if I am that courageous, but I hope that someday I can be.
Acorns and Balance
[Restlessness - IX]
My friend Willie is a farmer and he helped me notice something about restlessness: Peacefulness and restlessness are not mutually exclusive.
Like the peaceful oak tree, he says, “[I am] under constant unseen pressures.”
Willie isn’t any run-of-the-mill farmer. He’s a conservation farmer, doing his part to regenerate, restore, reforest, and re-wild his slice of earth. He much prefers those “R” words than restlessness.
But not everyone is doing the good work Willie does. Nor do they care. Lately, three neighbors started logging already-logged lands. He laments, "As I fight to remove prickly invasive species for the little oaks to see light, nearby logging paves the way for invasive species to spread.”
He’s tired, sore, and restless.
Willie draws a wonderful contrast to his restlessness, which is not the removal of it, but rather, a means to balance it. “Moments of peace come in the form of regular walks through the woods with my 4 year-old twin daughters, collecting acorns and climbing branches.”
Sometimes restlessness needs balance.
Children help.
Walks in the woods do, too.
Climbing tees, for sure.
When your world is getting logged, where do you find balance? Where are the "woods" you walk through? What's the "tree" you climb?
Bookstore Window
[Restlessness - VIII]
In the old fables, it’s a golden thread. Maybe gold hair. A gold leaf. A gold chalice. A gold something. The protagonist never fully knows why, but he or she must follow it to fulfill destiny.
Restlessness tells you a “golden thread” is afoot. It’s not literal; it might not even be physical. But it draws.
Is there a book you’re drawn to in the window of the bookstore?
Is there a person at the restaurant that captures your attention?
What about the coworker you can’t get off your mind?
How about an old friend you’re compelled to reach out to?
These are “golden threads”.
Restlessness beckons us to follow them. Listen to your intuition. Say “Yes” to your creative impulse. Be open. Even irrational.
It often leads to exactly what you need.
The Lion at the Zoo
[Restlessness - VII]
Emotions often come in threes—emotional triplets.
Restlessness and impatience are twins, but there is third. Sometimes it’s anxiety, which causes the threesome to feel negative. But when the third is hunger, they’re positive.
A hunger for answers. A hunger for clarity. A hunger for direction, purpose, meaning, growth, and change.
Restlessness.
Impatience.
Hunger.
Life and vocation only come one clue at a time. One character at a time. One chance meeting at a time. One blessing at a time. It’s never fast enough. And it’s always at the perfect time.
Restlessness is what the lion experiences at the zoo at feeding time. It's an alertness for nourishment. It’s impatience for important food. All restlessness is not bad; it just means it’s time for what’s suppose to happen.
Premature Creativity
[Restlessness - VI]
Inspiration bubbles up from deep.
The bottom of a lakebed is teaming with life. So it is with our soul. There’s an abundance of aerobic, life-giving activity at the center of who we are. But inspiration doesn’t always surface quickly or all at once. Slowly, bloop, bloop, bloop, it makes it way to our awareness.
At the bottom, deep down, creativity stirs.
Restlessness is often the first sign. It’s our body telling us, "Change is immanent, ideas are around the corner, and inspiration is stirring."
Restlessness is often premature creativity.
It needs to be addressed with alertness not antsy-ness. Attention not agitation.
The next time you’re restless, carry on . . . with a notepad. Inspiration is on its way.
Weekly Roundup: Restlessness I
March 29 - April 2, 2021
Monday: People like us know the feeling. The shivering. The irritability. The agitation, fidgetiness, and nervousness. The target-less going. The “multitasking” and “fast-brain”. It's exhausting.
Tuesday: Restlessness doesn’t need shaming. Or finger waging. Or huffs and puffs of disapproval. Restlessness first needs understanding. Which restlessness are you feeling?
Wednesday: There’s also a metaphorical RSL (Restless Leg Syndrome). It’s the uncontrollable urge to do something, go somewhere, or accomplish a task. Anything but this; anywhere but here; anything other than what is currently happening. “Running” is the perfect antidote
Thursday: Restlessness sometimes feels a lot like anger. It’s hot and uncomfortable. It’s accompanied by the impulse to act quickly and decisively, often toward someone that bears our projections of anger and wears our blame.
Friday: Restlessness is not the result of too much waiting; rather, it’s caused by waiting for too few things that matter.
Are you interested in the whole reflection? Click on any day, and it will take you there.
Want to help grow the community of people like us that are unwilling to continue in ways like this? Help us spread the word: share on Facebook, Twitter, or with a friend via email. Find the links below.
Waiting for the Bus
[Restlessness - V]
Sometimes restlessness is a consequence of fixation—an obsessive interest in one thing. By inference, it also means not having an interest in other things.
Restless waiting happens at a bus stop . . . when there’s nothing else to do but fixate on the arrival of the bus. No one reading a good book gets restless waiting for a bus.
Restless waiting happens before a holiday . . . when there’s nothing else to do but prepare for the big event. No student with three term papers and two final exams gets restless waiting for Christmas.
Restlessness is not the result of too much waiting; rather, it’s caused by waiting for too few things that matter.
Find a good book, and in anticipating the next page, you might forget you’re even waiting for the bus.
Agitation Needs Community
[Restlessness - IV]
Restlessness sometimes feels a lot like anger. It’s hot and uncomfortable. It’s accompanied by the impulse to act quickly and decisively, often toward someone that bears our projections of anger and wears our blame.
It’s restless agitation.
Restless frustration.
Restless angst.
Restless distress.
And it’s okay. Even good. But not on its own.
It has strong threads of irrationality and bias that sew it together. Always.
Restless agitation needs loving company.
To affirm it.
“What you are feeling is okay, powerful, and important. It makes sense."
To temper it.
“Your frustration is valid. Here are few balancing perspectives."
To direct it.
“Let us help you engage and invest into a solution.”
Restless agitation needs a community for affirmation, balance, and empowerment.
Where Are You Running?
[Restlessness - III]
Restless leg syndrome (RLS) is a real thing, you know. It’s the uncontrollable urge to move, often accompanied by twitching or shaking of the legs. Moving offers some satisfaction; sitting still is impossible. Running is the perfect antidote (if one can do it without injury).
There’s also a metaphorical RSL. It’s the uncontrollable urge to do something, go somewhere, or accomplish a task. Anything but this; anywhere but here; anything other than what is currently happening. “Running” is the perfect antidote.
Where are you going? (Nowhere in particular, I assume.)
Ah, yes, then what are you running from?
RLS and restlessness in general is often an (attempted) escape.
From tension.
From conflict.
From hurt.
From grief.
From denial.
From unhealth.
From self-examination.
From reconciliation.
From introspection.
From potential growth.
Again: Where are you going and what are you running from?
Which Restlessness?
[Restlessness - II]
Restlessness feels like the pedal is on the gas but the car is in park. A lot of revving, high RPMs, and zero forward motion. But all restlessness is not created equal.
There are at least four:
- "Restless leg syndrome”—energy with little direction.
- “Restless agitation”—embodied disapproval of what is.
- “Restless waiting”—impatient energy.
- “Restless inspiration”—premature creativity.
Restlessness doesn’t need shaming. Or finger waging. Or huffs and puffs of disapproval. Restlessness first needs understanding.
Which restlessness are you feeling?
(More importantly: What practices do you have to slow down enough to discern which restlessness you are experiencing?)
Shivering in the Rain
[Restlessness - I]
I stood for 90 minutes at a soccer game yesterday. It was 38 degrees, pouring rain, and windy. By half-time my feet were saturated and my hands numb. By the end of the game my chest ached and I felt nauseous. I think I was experiencing the early symptoms of hypothermia. No kidding.
I noticed two things when I got home: It took three hours to thaw, and I was ravenously hungry.
Turns out that shivering for an hour and a half burns a lot of calories. Metabolically, it’s the equivalent of running a 5k. Maybe longer.
Restlessness is like shivering in the cold for an entire soccer game.
A lot of stationary busy-ness, aimless movement.
A ton of burned energy with little direction.
And it takes longer to come out of a state of restlessness than the time in it.
(For some of us, it’s the one thing keeping us alive.)
People like us know the feeling. The shivering. The irritability. The agitation, fidgetiness, and nervousness. The target-less going. The “multitasking” and “fast-brain”. It's exhausting.
Over the next couple weeks, with the help of a few friends, I will explore the good and bad—the brightness and the shadow—of restlessness.
Weekly Roundup: Fear II
March 22 - March 25, 2021
Monday: Wake up, scroll, consume, clock in, clock out, consume, scroll, sleep. There’s virtually no fear in that equation. But fear is not the enemy. Paralysis is. Numbness is.
Tuesday: This is the brilliance of artists and creatives (and good leaders). They approach the edge where fear lives, and they wait and pace and even dance.
Wednesday: Learning requires tension. Because it's tough. Compliance, not learning, requires fear. Often we confuse the two. And we don’t grow.
Thursday: We fear our own emptiness, a void, a lack, a wound . . . and yet somehow, someway, therein resides a miraculous fullness (that holds us).
Friday: Fear is not an emotion we must purge or deny; it’s a page or chapter in the story of who we are. And it often accompanies hard-fought wisdom.
Are you interested in the whole reflection? Click on any day, and it will take you there.
Want to help grow the community of people like us that are unwilling to continue in ways like this? Help us spread the word: share on Facebook, Twitter, or with a friend via email. Find the links below.
Bodies are an Alibi
[Fear - X]
Our bodies have memory.
In our flesh, we wear our stories of cuts, bruises, and burns. But even deeper, our bodies carry in them stories of close escapes, near death experiences, battery and abuse, and years of stress and struggle.
Our bodies are the alibi of our fears. We’re skittish or sluggish, tender or numb . . . and our bodies vouch for all of it.
Fear is not an emotion we must purge or deny; it’s a page or chapter in the story of who we are. And it often accompanies hard-fought wisdom.
Miraculous Fullness
[Fear - IX]
My friend Nathaniel draws a helpful picture of fear, I think.
Read what he says closely, slowly.
"Fear arises in the presence of an absence. It is not the absence in and of itself that provokes fear . . . but the presence of the absence. Lack, brokenness, finitude press in upon us: an invisible weight making itself darkly known and hotly felt, driving us by its varied shadows to flee its most terrible claws.”
When we become aware of our limitations and shortcomings, fear arises. We come face to face with our weakness.
Paradoxically, in that weakness, there is a strength; in that absence, there is Divine presence.
Nathaniel says it beautifully: “[God] plunges into the uttermost depths, where “darkness” is the “only companion” (Ps 88:18). . . [and] I discover that it is no longer I who am clinging to his promises, but that by his promises, he is grasping hold of me.”
We fear our own emptiness, a void, a lack, a wound . . . and yet somehow, someway, therein resides a miraculous fullness (that holds us).