I used to loathe the word. Often, it felt like a subtle harassment, opposing my maximalist personality. Give me space, I shall clutter. Even the walls of my brain… It’s an impulse set on constant.
But contemplating the word “break” today, this very moment, my mouth smirks, holding two parallel peaks pointed toward my temples rather than dipping in a frown that begs to reach my shoulders. The smile is genuine.
I no longer resent the word. Instead, I’ve approached it like a new next-door neighbor, a plate of brownies baked out of the box resting in my hands and a loud smile on my face. I will befriend you, my grin says. Brownies (that I somehow managed not to eat before I arrived), the guarantee.
Break. It’s a word that I now adore for its necessity. It’s a welcome objection that seeks to rectify the balance I need in my life. It’s become a junction of time, a detachment that nearly depicts a real place. Like your favorite coffee shop. I go. I sit. I drink the coffee.
Coffee is a metaphor for moderation, contemplation, or maybe even introspection. (Is it really a metaphor if you have to say it is? Never mind…)
Break has become a crevice of time that moderation can slip into and start plucking the weeds that excess seeded in my soul’s planter. No matter how good, too much of it is bad. Balance means you don’t bite people. Just ask my family…(really don’t, my face is still blood red)
I love wildflowers, but they’re still weeds. My soul needs breaks to plant hardy plants that can sustain harsh winters and even droughts. It’s not fun work, but damn is it necessary.
After a much-needed break, my plants are thriving. And the weeds, at the moment, are few. And the holidays that just came to a close, sigh. They were marvelous, and my family and friends are brilliant human beings that make my heart sing.
2018 is going to be promising because it’s really only a matter of choice.
And this lady is choosing it—all the happiness, laughter, and freaking love it offers and creating all of it doesn’t.