Santa Pause: The Art of Doing Nothing
The idea of sitting still without sensory input feels almost unattainable.
In the holiday season, the notion of slowing down often feels like an unachievable luxury rather than a necessary respite. With Christmas on the horizon, I face a compulsory slowdown, a concept almost foreign to me. For many, this season is synonymous with joy and relaxation, but for me, it paradoxically ushers in a period of internal struggle.
The challenge lies in the concept of doing nothing. For someone accustomed to constant activity, a day off extends beyond work; it becomes a hiatus from the relentless tasks my mind creates. The idea of sitting still without sensory input—whether it's television, gaming, music, or endlessly scrolling through Instagram—feels almost unattainable. This relentless need for engagement is likely why tranquility and restful sleep remain elusive.
I often find myself enviously observing my dog, Wallis. Her natural ability to rest, a seemingly simple act, appears almost worthy of acclaim. My struggle isn’t confined to just sitting still; it infiltrates even the most mundane aspects of my life. A routine activity like visiting the bathroom has become unthinkable without the accompaniment of my phone, underscoring my chronic inability to detach, even briefly.
An insightful mushroom experience once illuminated my tendency to seek perfection, even during moments meant for rest. The conditions have to be just right for me to sleep—the room is arranged perfectly, and if I skip my skincare routine before bed, I'm hit with a wave of guilt. I even become acutely aware of the very moment sleep is about to take over, which, in a twist of irony, jolts me awake. This heightened sense of awareness, rather than offering comfort, often amplifies my anxiety. Ironically, I can remember feeling more at peace when I was under pressure to survive or prove myself; there was always something to do and I had no reason to rest.
A constant sense of fatigue plagues me, yet the ability to surrender and let go seems lost. I can only recall a few instances of genuine relaxation, such as during an ayahuasca experience, which evoked the comforting feeling of a mother soothing her child to sleep.
I lean on coffee to combat tiredness and sometimes wine in the evenings to simulate relaxation. The approaching prospect of bedtime, which is characterised by solitary conflict with my racing thoughts, has made this routine into a cycle of overstimulation and forced calm. The physical toll is evident in my commitment to activities like CrossFit and intense yoga. Despite the satisfaction they bring, they are also depleting. I grapple with guilt when I skip a workout, although I now try not to linger on this sentiment. I acknowledge my efforts in physical activity but often find myself pushing beyond limits, even when exhausted.
The Christmas season presents a distinct challenge with its inherent slowdown, a societal convention rather than a personal choice. Everyone decelerates, making it a norm rather than an anomaly. However, this shift is far from natural for me. My focus becomes navigating through holiday customs—striving for a flawless Christmas dinner and smooth celebrations—and eagerly anticipating a return to my typical routine.
So, what drives this relentless pace? Broadly, it may be a reaction to past traumas that keep me in a state of constant vigilance. On a more profound level, it's fuelled by an incessant need to feel adequate, to validate my existence to the world and, perhaps, to myself. I grapple with a deep-seated fear of confronting my emotions, and this is further intensified by an acute self-awareness that often leads me to overthink my feelings. This internal struggle stems from an apprehension of facing the unknown within myself. I fear that in encountering these uncharted emotional territories, I might instinctively try to exert control, manipulating my feelings rather than experiencing them authentically. It's this fear of not just feeling, but also of the unpredictable nature of these emotions and my own response to them, that complicates my ability to simply 'be' with my feelings.
This Christmas, as I traverse this imposed slowdown, I am learning to recognise and embrace this aspect of my being. It's a gradual journey towards discovering serenity in stillness and recognising my inherent value in simply existing.
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Thank you so much for this, Daniel. You're telling my story! I used to be dread the year-end holidays and would fill the quietness with unnecessary work -- cooking lavish meals for large groups of people, spending inordinate amounts of time and money procuring and wrapping gifts, decorations up to the rafters, Christmas-card-writing till my hand grew limp -- all very effective at dulling the pain of anxious, unfulfilled life.
You're right, it starts with recognizing and accepting what's going on. Eventually, I found it less painful to work on my s*** than to continue being driven by my shame, perfectionism and hypervigilance. Don't get me wrong, I'm still very much a work in progress, but doing this work gives me hope. This Christmas, for instance, I'm not cooking at all and haven't bought or wrapped a single gift. (My family and I agreed on a gift giving truce a few years ago.) Instead, I'm planning on cozy times with my partner - movies, fires, books, stews, hot chocolate a.k.a. "hygge" in Danish).
One of the cornerstones of my recovery from codependency, perfectionism and workaholism are weekly online ACA meetings (Adult Children of Alcoholics and Dysfunctional Families) where I meet people dealing with very similar struggles and we support each other in changing.
Another cornerstone is morning meditation and the slowest, gentlest, most restorative and self-compassionate yoga on the planet (Avita Yoga - it's all online).
A third has been a deep exploration of self-compassion practices, which felt fake at first, but now feel incredibly nurturing.
Finally, therapy (individual and with my partner) to work through trauma going back to early childhood and weaving its way through most of my life (I'm 57 - better late than never 🥴.)
It's a journey, my friend, but growth is possible. I'd even say, once you've awakened, it's inevitable. Give a hug and a kiss to Wallis for me -- what a blessing. 😍
Doing nothing is more difficult than it sounds. Beautiful piece, as always 🙏🏽