On Giving Yourself a Break

There is a saying about people who write (or who want to write): Everyone wants to have written, very few want to sit down and do the work of writing. I can personally attest to this being true. Even as much as I love to write, as much as I am enamored with the process of creating whole worlds with little more than my own creativity, it’s still hard. Sometimes it’s incredibly frustrating. Often, I write myself into a corner and can’t see any way out. I can’t count the number of projects I’ve started and ultimately scrapped (one of the many reasons I’m trying out plotting for my next project, something I’ll talk about in a future post).

I’m someone who subscribes to the idea of writing every day. Some days, that means an hour or more of straight composing. Some days, that means I’m editing. Some days, it means I write a paragraph or plot a scene and that’s that. But it’s important to me to make time, and hold it sacred, for writing. I don’t think everyone has to do this; whatever process works for you, go for it. But for me, the commitment and discipline to show up to the page (or screen) everyday signals something to my brain about what I’m doing and what I say is important to me.

And sometimes everyone, including myself, needs to take a break. Recently I've been having a lot of conversations with people about the deep, unyielding fatigue we all seem to be feeling. For some, this is a symptom of real health issues connected to long COVID. But even those of us fortunate enough to escape that are carrying a heavy weight of the past three-plus years. Call it burnout, call it exhaustion, call it whatever you want to call it. But this thing we're doing is not sustainable. We all need a break.

This past week I spent time at the beach with a good friend, capturing some of the last days of summer. As a North Carolina girl, I love both the beach and the mountains (if you’ve spent any time here, you know), but there is something about driving over the Intercoastal, seeing the boats and smelling the salt air, that relaxes my shoulders like nothing else does. For four days, we sat on a porch and on the beach; we read and talked; I took a long walk and watched the sun rise over the beach each morning; we woke to our internal clocks instead of an alarm; we ate great meals and rested our minds and our bodies.

I took my writing with me, as I always do. But I’ll admit I didn’t do much with it. If I wrote a sentence or two, that was enough. Instead, I listened to a friend talk about her life. I unintentionally worked out some plot points on those long morning walks. I drew inspiration from what I was reading, the meals I was sharing, sitting on a rocking chair on the porch.

In my day job I am fond of saying, “Everything is data.” Everything is feedback and input that you can choose to pay attention to or not. Writing is no different. Yes, the words must get on the page. Yes, there must be structure and a coherent plot and characters that draw you in and make you care about them. But everything and anything can be inspiration and motivation for what shows up on the page.

It's easy to get too focused on the work and the progress. In this world of outcomes and measurement, we have become producers and forgotten to be experiencers. As the saying goes, you cannot pour from an empty cup. No matter what you’re working on, none of us can produce consistently at a high level without taking intentional breaks along the way. So, take that walk. Watch the sun rise. Connect with your people. Share stories and listen. Make time for intentional rest. You just might see the world, your work, and yourself in a whole new way.