The art of doing nothing

 

An interesting conversation came up in my friend's circle recently about getting up early. I missed most of it but as the chatter faded, I found myself quietly reflecting. Everyone was proudly complimenting the discipline of rising early. But in the contrary, I felt that I have somehow lost the skill of getting up late. Yes, you heard it correctly. Day after day, there’s always a reason to get up early, or at least I’ve convinced myself so. On weekdays, it’s my son’s school which starts pretty early, by 6:30am his breakfast and lunch needs to be ready. On weekends, there’s always some plan or schedule. Even when I go to our farm, I somehow find a reason, I need to catch the owls before sunrise, maybe I’ll get a rare shot with the moon in the background. My body and mind refuse to cooperate with the idea of getting up late. Even during our “relaxing” holidays, I’m awake before everyone else, mentally calculating how long it’ll take the whole family to get ready, considering, of course, one-bathroom situation in the hotel room. 

I guess it must have been my mother who must have inculcated this as a good habit. She has always carried the moral baton of our family and we followed her lead without any questions. Both my brother and I were obedient kids, not the rebellious kind who questioned her rules. She often told me, If you don’t get up early and draw the Kolam (Rangoli) in front of the house, Goddess Lakshmi won’t visit. And back then, that was my sacred morning duty. So, like any good child, I learned this habit early or may be perhaps too early.

When I got married, it was totally different situation, nobody was there to pickup the baton my mom passed on, moralize me on what is wrong and what is right. Everyone just did what suited them. I was the sheep who had lost her shepherd. As a newly married woman who had just quit her job, I had very few responsibilities. I’d wake up early, out of habit but didn’t know what to do next. I’d try to go back to sleep, but my body refused. The only thing I mastered was pretending to sleep. That’s when it hit me, I had truly lost the skill of getting up late.

You may wonder why I keep calling it a skill. Because, breaking away from routine and rewiring your brain for unknown is an art. Calmly reclaiming lost time requires a Zen mind, and letting it go and accept whatever happens happens need another level of character. I envy those who can wake up at ten, stretch lazily, and still feel no hurry. I wonder may be I cannot, as I subconsciously fear the unknown. May be one day I'll relearn this lost art. Until then, I'll keep rising with the sun, checking clocks, owls and wondering what it truly means to rest