Life Upside Down

I didn’t leave the house yesterday. It was a gorgeous, sunny Sunday, with a little bit of spring air, but aside from a coffee and breakfast grocery supplies run, I made no attempt to venture beyond the veranda.

It was heaven.

I live in what’s called a Queenslander, a traditional Australian home constructed with the floods and torrid Queensland summers in mind. Situated high above the ground, these homes are airy and open and spacious. They’re generally wooden and often feature wooden filigree above the doors (my house has a kangaroo and an emu… so Australian.)

I love living in this house. My housemates and I don’t have much furniture between us, so it’s full of sunshine and open space and plants and a hearty veranda with lots of room for bean bags and beer pong- whatever the occasion calls for.

As much as I love this place, it is unicorn-sighting rare for me to spend an uninterrupted day at home, even on the weekends. So many friends, beaches, national parks, breweries, cafes, bike paths, activities! Yesterday presented the perfect opportunity: no gigs, no yoga classes or trainings, no work events, and just enough exhaustion to force me to allow the impromptu idea of a home day to fully germinate. After a lazy breakfast, luxuriating in some unplanned time at home (and sweatpants) quickly became far more important than a Sunday afternoon spent chasing the normal Get Shit Done Routine.

Sometimes I have to remind myself that my life is not supposed to be a series of meetings, emails, gigs, teaching, yoga, repeat. All of the above are great, but that’s not all there is. I am more than an empty inbox. As sad as it sounds, Monday-Friday can often feel like that constant soulless pursuit of just having “done” something, and  the weekends are filled making up for it.

Being a Virgo and an oldest child can be quite helpful in the productivity department. The ugly side is that it can turn into a dogged self-imposed rat race, an unrelenting wheel of expectation and goals and achievement.

I am not a robot. I am not other people. I am sometimes capable of sixteen-hour days, and sometimes my brain is numb by 4pm. Living that dichotomy isn’t inconsistency, it’s realistic, it’s authentic, it’s human.

My brain seems to operate at two speeds lately: breakneck caffeinated mania or full-blown, incapacitated lethargy. Both are good, both are okay. One is a part of myself I need to learn to listen to. Going hard, kicking ass and learning where I can test my own limits is incredibly satisfying, but it needs to be coupled with some pause. Spending a day at home, cooking and cleaning and thinking and allowing a little bit of space for some fresh air to come into this tired brain are all just as important.

The light at the end of this manic tunnel, of course, is this trip home in a few weeks’ time. I need some family time, some restorative mountain days, long talks, and a dose of that slow southern drawl.

I am not a robot, and that is really, really okay.