This morning, I find myself wanting to stop rushing and do just this: to sit on the sofa and stare out the window. Sacred dawdling, as Sue Monk Kidd calls it. When I first read those words, I thought, Dawdling as sacred? Really?

But it is sacred, because it is an act of faith. To stop my work, be unproductive, and simply look out into the new day … this requires trust.

When I do this, I feel as though I am coming close to a subversive act.

To sit around? On a Thursday morning at 10am, when I should be working? On a Thursday morning at 10am, when in another lifetime (and by that I mean two years ago), I would have been sitting down to a long series of meetings at my former workplace?


Dare I Stop Rushing?

When I sit and stare like this, I feel two forces battling within me. (I suspect you know them well.)

The first force, the deeper, quieter one, says, “Though it may not look that way, this is actually important. This is what you need to be doing right now. This is you telling the truth.

In the long run, stillness is going to bring you farther than constant motion ever could. This time is deceptively simple, and surprisingly powerful. Just wait and see.”

The other force – which is louder and more aggressive – says: “What are you doing? There is no time for this! Get off your butt! Write! Be productive! Contribute to society, to your business, to your bottom line!”

I believe that taking time for yourself helps people around you, that one person’s stillness can contribute to a community. Yet in some ways, holding to this truth becomes difficult when I lead a quieter life. The ‘result’ of my stillness is elusive; it takes faith to believe in its importance.

And so I sit amidst the cacophony within. The late morning light is beautiful; the cat, curled up at the end of the sofa, is too. My body relaxes into the couch, into the moment.

For a time, I forget the forces and the shoulds and should nots. For a time, I just … am. I am just me.

I get up eventually; perhaps ten minutes have passed. And as I stand I think: That didn’t take so long after all. And also: I don’t think I want a life in which I can’t just sit and be for ten minutes.

Practicing Sacred Dawdling

Every day presents us with a choice.

Every day, we will come up against that critical, worried part of ourselves that judges our performance minute by minute. But with practice in the art of sacred dawdling – just 5 minutes here, 10 minutes there– we will be better equipped to fight.

stop rushing and start living, 'Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.'” - EinsteinAnd by fight, I mean surrender, because that is the only way I have found to win the war against the harpy in my head. To her, I say, gently: “Yes, you are absolutely right. I accept your every harsh word.

You have a point. I am doing nothing of measurable value right now. I’ve stopped rushing, and this worries you to no end. But even so, it will be all right.

It will be all right because not everything that has worth can be measured.

Or, in Einstein’s words:

“Not everything that can be counted counts, and not everything that counts can be counted.’”

After all, how can I count the value of listening to my husband as he shares a story about his day? Or the value of the pages I write in my journal, which aren’t meant for any eyes but mine?

There is no profit that comes from spending two hours with my friend and her newborn baby … no profit, that is, except a sense of awe and wonder, a feeling of deep gratitude for being alive.

There is nothing except everything … everything that really matters in the end.


Is it a challenge for you to stop rushing and choose stillness? Join the conversation in the comments!

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