Resting in New Orleans
letting go of destructive narratives and allowing myself to heal
I’ve wanted to visit New Orleans since I was eleven years-old. My mom had a friend that lived there; a jazz musician I admired.
In 2015, after graduating from my MFA, I drove the Natchez Trace Parkway through the south— the one region of the United States I hadn’t explored. But when I reached New Orleans I drove past the city, knowing that my car full of stuff, including my bike, would get broken into if I stopped in any city.
One of the reasons I chose the PhD program in Tallahassee was its proximity to many cities I’d always wanted to explore: especially Atlanta and New Orleans. So, when I saw a pet-sit here in New Orleans, I jumped on it.
The nice thing about visiting a place when you live within driving distance is the lack of pressure. I haven’t felt the pressing need to explore everything in this trip, which is good, because there’s a record-breaking heat wave and it’s truly hot AF.
When I got here I was totally depleted. I had moved all of my things into a couple different homes offered generously by friends. For four days before arriving in NOLA I was teaching and finishing up class papers and moving boxes and boxes (how do I have SO MANY boxes when I came here with two suitcases??) and selling furniture and cleaning my apartment, all while trying to recover from a concussion. For the entire school year I had managed to avoid an autoimmune flair, which happens when stress, lack of sleep, poor diet, and too much physical activity collide, but by the time I arrived here my entire body ached and I was so tired I could barely move. It was hard for me to take the dog for his walks, though it’s good that I had to, because physical activity is important for rheumatoid arthritis and helps prevent joints from becoming too stiff.
Once I got my grades in, and finished my final essay, I surrendered. I said to my body: I hear you. I rested. I didn’t turn on the television and binge any shows, which never really feels like resting; instead, I started reading a “fun” book (Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, which was a lovely book but less “fun” than I had expected), and I slept. I slept whenever my body told me to sleep, which was intermittently throughout the day for three entire days, and for about ten hours for three entire nights.
During this time I vacillated between judging myself for being lazy (which is absolutely absurd and part of our culture’s cruel training in constant productivity) and patting myself on the back for resisting the siren call of work. I had a lot of work to do (I have a lot of work to do). A couple assignments will be late because of my days of rest, but for god’s sake, I had a concussion and I couldn’t rest properly when that happened, so don’t I get a few days of rest? Am I allowed that?
Yes, I am.
I am allowed to rest.
We are allowed to rest.
When we do not nurture ourselves in the ways we so often nurture others, our creative existence is in peril.
Rest is essential for creativity.
On my third day here, I went to a BBQ place for a pick-up order and nearly had a panic attack. Why? Because I was depleted. Because the mere act of existing in public takes energy, and I had no energy. I ordered my BBQ and sat on a bench waiting and felt as if every person in the room was watching me, judging me.
This sensation is one I have often, and have had often. It’s not narcissistic; it’s that I’m scared of other humans— the irrational part of my brain is scared of other humans. Is it irrational, though? Maybe not. I have known a lot of scary humans. And public can be a scary place nowadays. But who would care that I was getting BBQ? Nobody.
Our brains need rest in order to function rationally.
The statement above may elicit a duh reaction, but we forget this. I forget this. I wonder how many of us are sleepwalking through our world because we are not taking care of ourselves. And I wonder how many of us feel guilty when we take the time to care for ourselves. In our world, caring for ourselves is a habitat in which guilt also exists. Saying no to others lives in the caring for ourselves habitat.
I remind myself: when I care for myself I give others permission to care for themselves. When I care for myself I make space in my brain and soul for more kindness, more acceptance, more love.
When I ignore the needs of my body and mind I am essentially living in a state of self-denial. And if I am denying myself, am I not denying everyone else as well?
This is to say: rest.
Of course, there are times we cannot rest in the way we need to rest. Whether the reasons are financial, familial, professional, or whatever, this is inevitable. Having a newborn makes it impossible to rest. So does having an essential deadline upon which your professional life depends. But even in those times we can find moments for rest.
But in those times, at least for me, I turn to coping mechanism that further deplete me, like scrolling on my phone or watching TV.
I’m coping, not resting.
Surviving, not resting.
So, here in the Crescent City I have been experimenting with what it feels like to actually rest. To be with myself when I am resting, instead of checking out of my body and mind.
It’s not comfortable, really. There are a lot of critical voices in my head; cultural and family narratives about how important it is to remain productive.
Years ago, when I was contending with this after graduating from my MFA, I told me therapist: I don’t think I know how to rest.
There’s a terrified part of me that truly believes that I’ll lose my drive if I surrender to my need for rest. That my ambition, which has brought me closer and closer to a self-sustaining creative life, will dissolve and I will also dissolve and I’ll end up where I was so long ago: homeless, broke. With nothing.
That’s an understandable and valid terror— the terror of having nothing. Especially when I have no family safety net to catch me if I were to dissolve.
I think we all have our own particular narratives about the terrible things that will happen if we rest.
Maybe now is a good time to take a moment and ask yourself: what is the worst thing that will happen if I let myself rest. If I stop listening to those critical voices or ideas or images in my mind that inhibit me from truly resting, without being hard on myself?
What comes up for you? Tell me in the comments, if you’d like to share.
It was over five years ago that I told my therapist: I don’t know how to rest.
Somehow I keep forgetting how to rest. But I think it helps to understand what drives me forward.
There’s the positive things, like wanting to create beautiful art, wanting to be able to support myself as a writer, and wanting financial freedom. No, financial abundance. So I can share with others as others have (or haven’t) shared with me.
But there’s also the fear. Fear that I will be a failure, that I’ll end up like my mother, who killed herself because she aimed for the wrong things. Fear that I will somehow end up with nothing and no one.
The fear— that’s what I have to contend with. Or integrate. Maybe I embrace that fear.
Maybe I thank my fear for getting me here.
Maybe I soothe that fear like the feral animal that it is.
Maybe I don’t let it rule my life.
Maybe I don’t let it push me into exhaustion.
Maybe that’s what I am taking with me as I head into the second year of my PhD.
Choosing to rest rather than to cope. Choosing that, and greeting the fear like a hurt, lost animal. Welcoming the fear home. Letting myself know: it’s okay to relax. You deserve to rest.
I feel you on the panic that sometimes descends on you in public. it's one of the reasons I don't go out much, and then wonder if I'm making it worse by not exposing myself to it. and then i think eh i've had a lifetime of exposure, it's okay to prefer comfort.
Good for you: rest is critically important. I think of it this way: you are a writer, utterly dependent on your brain functioning at its peak. The only way you can achieve that is to get sufficient rest. And for you, who has been through so much and has physical issues to contend with, it's even more important. Our society (American, not globally) looks down on the need to rest, calling it laziness as if that is something bad. The high pace of our society is why people are miserable, overconsume, and are sick. Life expectancy in the US is declining, almost uniquely in the world.
I was one of those fast-paced academics who regarded laziness as a sin. Until two things happened: I had kids, whom I loved playing with; and I had several major illnesses that required fancy surgery. I learned to slow down from those experiences. I left academia, for which I have no regrets, to work as a consultant and to become a writer. Now, I am a full-time writer, my schedule is my own, and I get plenty of exercise and rest. It not only makes me a better writer, but a better person.
Our society is deeply flawed and, I think, in trouble. We are consuming the Earth's resources, while abusing many of its people. We buy coffee and chocolate for our pleasure with little regard for the fact that the farmers who produce these crops are mired in poverty. I know a lot of people who claim to care about the climate crisis but fly off on a vacation at a moments notice (flying has the biggest climate impact of almost anything we do).
Have you noticed the reluctance of many people to return to their offices since the pandemic? Entire office buildings in big cities stand mostly empty. People have, I think, discovered that working from home gives them more time, more freedom, and more rest.
Anyway, I'm glad you are resting. I do hope you'll get to explore New Orleans a bit. It's an amazing place. I have only been there for conferences, but in free time enjoyed the place. Here is my favorite experience: One night, after a long day of EPA advisory meetings, a group of us walked around and came upon a steamboat sitting in the harbor. As we watched, a women emerged on the roof of the ship, sat down at a keyboard and began playing the calliope. It was a genuine steam calliope (pronounced KAL-ee-ohp by its afficianados), which I have never seen before or since. She played what amounted to an entire recital of popular and classical music. There was no audience but us, so I assume she was practicing.
Get some more rest, enjoy your dog, and stay cool.