Uncomfortably Comfortable

Ever heard of Blog Fog?

I made it up.

It's when your mind is filled with so many—too many—things you could write about that you can't decide where to begin–

A great lecture.  A porch conversation with friends.

Poison ivy from who knows where. Puffy fingers. Achy joints.

Was it the bee sting? The gin & tonic? The bread with dinner? Too much sun?

The dog shedding. The weeds I pulled. The new detergent I used.

Oh my.

It's endless, really—the things we can loop together as "healthy" and "not so healthy," and how both are part of the balancing act we all desire to find. Steadiness. Calm. Health. Joy.

Just when I think I have things planned out—time blocked for a project, friends arriving for the weekend, business goals lined up—something unexpected creeps in.

This past week, I was pulling weeds ferociously before out-of-town friends arrived for a long weekend. (Why I thought the weeds needed to be conquered before they arrived is a blogpost for another day.)

There I was, welcoming dear friends, getting everyone settled, catching up over a glass of Sancerre, when I started itching. (yes, I did shower before they arrived btw)

One day passed.

More itching, followed by calamine lotion, cold showers, clean sheets.

Surely that would solve it.

It didn't.

A few more days passed. The rash spread. The itching got worse.

Naturally, I decided the answer was to paddle out on the lake with Chili. Surely a little cool lake water would soothe everything.

Instead, I got stung by a wasp walking down to the dock. (I actually stepped on the nest with my flip flop and they came right up out of the ground to say hi)

I'm allergic to bees, so my heart rate hit 180.  And I dropped everything and ran back to the house. (In my mind- I was an olympic sprinter.  Reality check? I was a speed walking turtle:)

These are the unintended consequences.

The things you never schedule.

The interruptions. The hiccups.

The moments that jolt your steady, happy heart into discomfort.

And that's where I've been sitting these past few days.

Resting.

It almost felt like the poison ivy was trying to send me a message.

Another itch. Another patch. Another reminder.

I kept trying to ignore it.

"I'm okay."

"I'm fine."

Meanwhile, I was getting itchier, puffier, crankier, and more uncomfortable by the hour.

The message became impossible to miss.

GO AND REST.

Take the Benadryl you're refusing to take because you hate taking medicine.

Lie down.

Stay there awhile.

(Thank you, Betsy and Jen, for encouraging me to actually listen.)

I'm still learning that rest doesn't mean you're giving up.

Rest is where we remember.

It's where we notice what actually went well today.

It's where we gather the little morsels that were good instead of getting buried by the inconveniences, the setbacks, and the discomfort.

Sometimes becoming uncomfortably comfortable is exactly what our body needs.

So yes...

I took a two-and-a-half-hour nap.

In the middle of the frickin' afternoon, in my cool AC’ed, amped up room, with clean sheets (again), benadryl, and…

No phone. No scrolling.  No book.  No reading.  No productivity.  

Just me, quieting down my mind and drifting off to sleep.

And it was heavenly.

When I woke up, I felt different- refreshed and renewed. But wanting to linger there.

I wandered downstairs, turned on my favorite dinner music (it's either Gregory Alan Isakov or The Lumineers this summer), and made a simple dinner of roasted vegetables and chicken thighs over fresh spinach.

It was delicious, especially with friends. (recipe here)

But more than the meal, it was the peace that surprised me.

That nap settled something.

My body had been keeping score all week—with the poison ivy, the wasp sting, the constant movement—and it was simply asking me to slow down.

To rest.

Sometimes it's hard to hear what your body is saying because we want it to be saying something else.

We want it to keep going.

To push through.

To get one more thing done.

But our bodies are wise.

This week reminded me that listening is often the healthiest thing we can do.

Maybe that doesn't mean a two-hour nap for you.

Maybe it means one quiet minute before answering the next email.

One slow walk instead of another errand.

One deep breath before saying yes.

One moment to simply ask yourself,

What do I need next?

There is no greater season that rewards us with sunlight, green grass, longer days, sunrises, sunsets, and warmth on our skin than summer.

It's almost as if the season itself is whispering,

Slow down. Stay awhile. Rest here.

If we'll only listen.

Maybe your body has been trying to tell you something, too.

Take one minute.

A minute of quiet.

A minute of rest.

Or a minute of motion.

Listen before you rush.

Because sometimes the greatest healing doesn't come from pushing harder.

It comes from allowing yourself to become just a little... uncomfortably comfortable.