Discovering Rest

This is for my generation - the ones whose grandparents lived through the great depression and passed on the callous nature of survival to their kids.  

 This is for my generation – those schooled by parents with a “hard-work” mindset who turned survival tactics into a road paved with the promise of predictability and security.

This is for us, the ones who were taught that rewards come with a price, a tangible currency of sweat, blisters, good grades and the best schools; who learned to justify shortcomings and scramble for a slice of the prize before it bejeweled someone else’s crown.  This is for those who believe the more you do, the more you qualify, the more you perform, the more you are.  That to be the master of “more” proves your value. 

It’s a lie.

Sound harsh?  It is. 

Yet it’s been my part of my “standard operating procedure” program until just recently.  As much as I’d like to say I had embraced the belief that I was good enough, worthy enough, smart enough or “anything” enough, ideas like those I just described, directed how my mind organized things.   It operated like a strong undercurrent running thought streams in directions I assumed were accurate.  And why not?  Society, family, work and social systems all tapped into the same well of thought.

The system’s measuring stick has not only been used to bloody my knuckles or rap on my head, but has stretched out in front of me, taunting me, baiting me to keep running its never-ending race.

I’m talking to those who intimately know how to create their own designer series of hamster wheels.  I had convinced myself that this ability was a gift, but in reality, I discovered it’s been the gateway to distraction. 

I had an odd satisfaction that came from “doing” things.  In a mortifying way, I eventually saw how I was like a lab rat repeatedly hitting a button for a drug, unaware of how it depleted my body and soul.  Ironically, that meager reward came around less and less – as my definition of ‘reward’ began to morph and become less attainable, and then I began to dream smaller, or not at all.  Survival replaced the dreams and the victim assumed the helm.

Sound familiar?  It’s like this crazy illusion we know is harmful, but can’t figure out how to jump off the tracks. 

But I did.  I stepped off the wheel and stopped running that insane race.  And the first thing I did was sit.  Truly.  I had to sit down to take in what had just happened and process.  The unraveling and deprogramming has been a journey all together – and it came to place where an opening occurred, and I stepped through. 

 Last week I released an outdated definition of work & reward and opened the door to living in a way that celebrates and supports the true essence of being.  Doing has been redefined and desires weigh in as trump cards. 

Never underestimate the ways your subconscious shows you keys and clues.  My liberating moment happened as I was jotting notes to myself as I listened to a mastermind course I’m part of.   I read my words: “Hard work = money & the privilege of rest”.  I dropped my pen.  “….the privilege of rest?”  Where did that come from?  I immediately knew that rogue thought had jumped some well-worn tracks and crashed through barriers to splash itself onto my notebook. 

I recoiled at the lie running my world.  Rest had been a privilege to me - an illusive reward for hard work, which for a resilient ‘worker-bee’, something that would rarely come; the job was never done, the tasks never complete. The only way to qualify for rest was to be where there was no responsibility – a place that did not exist in my world.  There was always something to be responsible for – or someone – you know…the biblical brother’s keeper?  Not to mention all the other titles I could sport: mother, wife, employee, volunteer, entrepreneur, among others.   My mantra for years had been “there’s always something to do”.  And I wore it like a badge of honor, pinned to my lapel by the sting of guilt, ere I ever venture into slowing my pace, because rest was a privilege. 

I collected myself, cried a little, and sat, stunned at the sudden liberation that burst through me as I realized my world was changing as that illusion dissolved.  

This is so fresh for me that I can’t offer much in the way of new actions taken, other than I did rest, in a rather luxurious restful surrender to joy.  And because of that restful space of relief and joy, I wanted to share it with those of ‘my generation’ who might find value in my moment of personal emancipation.  If you’re running on a similar wheel and are looking for an exit, trust there is one.  If you’ve been working on yourself, observing the mirrors, looking under the mattress for that damn pea, or having conversations with yourself you’re not sure you even believe, keep going.  You’ll find it.  One day it will happen, and you’ll witness something come forward that changes things for you.  And when it does, playfully applaud, laugh out loud or cry with relief, because it’s real.  You did it. 

The reward is not a piece of some pie that someone deemed you worthy to receive.  It’s yours – the whole damn pie is yours.  Because the truth is there is enough for all because we all have enough within us.