This is the third in my ongoing series of reflections on the idea of a “soft life” and what it could mean to create a life with more sustainability, honesty, and room to breathe.

Friday used to be my day off.

When I was in full-time church ministry, my weeks began on Sunday. By the time Friday came around I was often depleted enough that the day wasn’t really about doing something I enjoyed. I needed to be alone, recharge, and decompress from a week filled with people, meetings, writing, pastoral care, and all the emotional experiences that are part of being a pastor. Friday was the day I put myself back together enough to begin again.

At the time, I thought that was more or less what a day off was for. Looking back, I can see that I wasn’t really resting. I was recovering…and there is a difference.

There’s nothing wrong with needing to recover. Life can be a lot sometimes…but I’ve come to understand that I don’t want to organize my life around exhaustion.

This doesn’t mean I don’t ever want to get tired. I love the feeling of growing sleepy after a full and rewarding day. Officiating a wedding can take a lot out of me. A day of interaction and conversation can leave me ready to shut out the world for a while. Even creativity can sometimes be draining, especially when I’m writing something particularly personal.

I’m learning, though, that there is a difference between being tired because I’ve done something meaningful and living in a state of depletion.

These days, I try to build more breathing room into the ordinary rhythm of my life. I don’t schedule many back-to-back meetings. I try to leave space between clients. If at all possible, I avoid scheduling both an early morning and a late evening commitment on the same day. If I have a big day, like a wedding, I often leave the next day open.

In my everyday life, I try to set aside time for walking and reading, caring for the house, being with the dogs, writing, stretching, staring out the window, and doing things that aren’t particularly important. I’m realizing that this may be one of the biggest differences between my life then and my life now. Recovery is built into my days.

My nervous system isn’t continually accumulating a debt that my day off will eventually have to repay. I like my days better this way.

Sometimes when we talk about rest, we make it sound like something we should do because it will help us function better. Rest so you can be more productive. Take a vacation so you can return refreshed. Exercise so you’ll have more energy. Meditate so you can be more focused.

I understand all of that. I do some of those things for exactly those reasons….. but I’ve also been wondering why the quieter parts of my life need to justify themselves by making me better at the supposedly more important parts.

Why does taking a walk need to be good for my nervous system?

Why does reading need to restore me?

Why does vacation need to make me refreshed and ready to work again?

What if I walk because I like walking? What if I read because I love books? What if I play with the dogs because it makes me happy?

Those things aren’t what I do so that I can get back to my life. Those things are my life. They are part of why I’m here.

I’m still figuring this out, of course. One of the places I notice the old pattern most clearly is when I’m preparing to go away. I can get a little frantic trying to finish everything before I leave. I answer emails, anticipate what someone might need, and try to tie up every loose end.

I’m getting better at letting some things wait, but it’s not easy. When I really do step away, I’ve discovered that one of the things I value most is being temporarily outside the stream of other people’s needs and expectations. There is something liberating about being unavailable, about not checking email, about claiming that time as my own. For a little while, I can simply be where I am.

I think this may be what Sabbath means to me these days. In my pastoral ministry days, Friday was supposed to be my Sabbath, but often it was really my recovery day. Today, Sabbath for me is not necessarily a particular day of the week, but a real interruption in the expectation that I should always be available, responsive, productive, or useful.

Sometimes that happens for an hour or two. Sometimes for a day or a weekend. Sometimes, thankfully, a vacation.

I don’t think I’ve figured out the perfect rhythm. In fact, I’m pretty certain there isn’t one. Life changes. Some weeks are fuller than others. Sometimes people we love need us. Sometimes work requires more. Sometimes we choose something that will exhaust us because we really want to do it.

I’m not interested in creating a life so carefully protected that nothing ever asks much of me. I am interested in noticing when I am perpetually braced for what comes next. That’s the feeling I don’t want to return to.

I don’t want Friday to exist primarily so I can survive Sunday. I don’t want vacation to exist primarily so I can recover from work. I don’t want the quiet hour this afternoon to matter only because it prepares me for something tonight.

Can this moment be allowed to be this moment, rather than serving primarily as preparation or recovery for another one?

Of course, there are practical realities here. Money, work, caregiving, family responsibilities, health, and circumstances we don’t choose all shape how much control we have over our time. Also, our culture feeds into the drive to do more with our time and squeeze more out of our days. I wonder whether it is actually possible to support ourselves sustainably in a culture that seems designed around doing more.

I don’t have an answer to that. I do know that ~ within the choices available to me ~ I want to keep paying attention to the pace of my life. I’ve learned that pace has a real impact on my mental, spiritual, and physical well-being.

I have seasons. My energy changes. Some days I have more to give and other days I need more space. Sometimes I want company. Sometimes I very much do not 🙂 Sometimes I want to create. Sometimes I want to read my book and go to bed early. That all feels very human.

Maybe part of creating a softer life is letting all of that count… and not because it makes me more resilient or more productive tomorrow. Simply because this ordinary, imperfect, changing collection of moments is my life.

I don’t want to spend it continually getting ready for what’s next.

I want to be here for it.

A few questions to hold:

• Where in your life do you find yourself bracing for what comes next?
• What would it look like to build a little more breathing room into your ordinary days?
• What parts of your life do you enjoy simply because you enjoy them?
• Can this moment be allowed to be this moment, without needing to prepare you for whatever comes next?

If this reflection resonates with you, I’d love to hear from you. Much of my work through spiritual direction, grief companionship, and small groups centers around creating space to listen more honestly to our lives and the wisdom within them. You are always welcome to reach out. I would love to connect.

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Kristabeth Atwood is a spiritual director, writer, and celebrant who creates spaces for reflection, connection, and meaning in life’s transitions. You can reach out to learn more or schedule a discernment session with Kristabeth.