rest for the weary

i never liked taking naps.

in kindergarten, we had a designated nap time. each of us had our padded mats. mine was cherry red on one side and royal blue on the other. like the underside of a pillow on a balmy summer night, one side of the mat was always cooler, pressing softly against the concrete floor.

but while all the other kids were slumbering for that blissful hour or so, i was wide awake. i tell you, i could not have been more alert if my life had depended on it. as soon as the lights dimmed and the shuffling of little feet began, my mind would start to race. not in the frantic, worried way it does now, late at night when i'm the only one awake, but just race with excitement. with the idea that i was the only one in the room who wasn't asleep. i felt responsible. i felt like i should be doing something. i felt too keenly aware of my surroundings.  i think it has a large part to do with my stutter. even back then, i was a bundle of nervous energy.

and this pattern of not napping continued. my friends would go home and take naps after school. occupied with cheerleading and homework, that thought never entered my mind. but it wasn't because i didn't want to, didn't long to. i watched in envy as my father napped on lazy sunday afternoons. he'd lay across the living room floor, a sunbeam tickling his forehead. i would be on the computer, typing away at microsoft encarta.

then i met robert, and everything changed.

in our seven years together, he has taught me much. how to change a tire. how to appreciate the dave matthews band, pearl jam and ben folds. how to love unconditionally and honestly keep no record of wrongs. and, most importantly, how to relax, and, specifically, how to nap.

robert takes the most excellent naps. it takes him all of .5 seconds to fall asleep, and once he does, he immediately enters this deep, delicious rest, no matter how long the respite. it's a work of art, really, how his arms slide over his head, his chin tilts to the left and his lips part just slightly, letting out a slow, controlled collection of sighs.

through him, i have learned to appreciate the indulgence of rest. we are humans, not machines. i think it is such a lovely fact that our bodies aren't designed to go nonstop. we absolutely have to sleep. so why not make the most of it? our bedroom is tiny, with white walls and two doors that make way too much noise. there's a shed light right outside our window that flickers on at the slightest breeze. pablo is routinely at my feet, spinning around and pawing the covers. but we make it a point to rest in that space. we have a king bed, soft sheets and heavy blankets. i have a heating pad, velvety socks and a well-loved pillowcase. and it's home.

so i urge you, indulge in what makes you feel rested. you'll be infinitely more prepared to take on the day. everything will get done in due time-rushing typically only slows the process. it might mean leaving those last few dishes in the sink. that extra pile of laundry in the hamper. that glow of the laptop at midnight, beckoning you to check your e-mail. because rest--good, solid, sweet sleep, is the backbone of living, playing and working. you can't have one without the other. i've learned this. it seems robert's teachings have also affected another member of the family:

you don't have to take a nap every day, but letting go is such a freeing, beautiful feeling. when i realized i simply can't do it all, it all became more manageable. so try it. linger a bit longer in the bathtub than usual. heck, just take.a.bath. with the days getting shorter and darkness creeping in earlier, relish in these days, and enjoy earlier bedtimes. because you need it. your body craves it. and chances are, you deserve it.