rest & saying no

November is usually a pretty crazy month for me. On top of working at a very busy grocery store that gets exponentially busier during the holidays, I usually vend at several craft fairs. This year, after much waffling, I decided not to participate in any shows this year. Initially I did a “gut check” as to whether or not I should apply to this year’s craft shows. I mentally committed to a “no” and sat with that decision for a while to see how it felt. Then I did the same thing with a “yes,” and already began to feel anxious. Even though before Christmas is by far the best time to sell handmade items, I knew I would come to regret the stress that would inevitably pile up during preparation. It was hard to say no because I live in a culture that sets the expectation that we all should burn the candle at both ends as part and parcel to pursuing the American dream; we are hardwired to over-commit.

I said no to craft fairs this year because I wanted to say yes to writing. A couple of years ago I tried to juggle NaNoWriMo with several craft shows on top of the craziness of the holidays during the day job. It was all just too much, and I wasn’t offering my family and friends the best part of me because I was too stressed to enjoy a moment of down time. I’m learning what my boundaries are, and knowing what to say no to is part of the process of learning to value myself. I would rather say no if it means having enough of myself left to give to the people who are important to me.

fal·low /ˈfalō/ n. plowed and harrowed but left unsown for a period in order to restore its fertility as part of a crop rotation or to avoid surplus production

In agriculture, farmers (before modern farming methods, at least) used to have a sabbatical year in which they would let the crops lie fallow. They would refrain from any kind of harvest or cultivation and let the plants go wild. Animals, insects, and passersby were allowed to help themselves and the weeds were allowed to take over. As the weeds grew deep into the soil and the fruit fell and rotted, they would return nutrients to the soil that had been depleted by the previous six years of growing one type of plant exclusively. Letting the earth rest for a season prepared it for another six years of farming, with healthier crops from the richer soil. Some farmers still practice crop rotation (alternating varieties of crops in given soil) for the same reason.

This year writing will be my primary external commitment. It’s time to shift my focus to something that feels more like me. Writing a novel in just one month will surely be no easy task, but just knowing that I haven’t committed to anything else has made me feel a sense of peace. No was the right decision, and I feel it will give me the rest I need to go into November with my best self, rejuvenated, and with a singular purpose. Rest allows me to cultivate the energy I’ll need in the future by letting go of other pursuits for a season, which will allow me to produce better fruit in another season.

Is there something in your life that you feel needs to lie dormant for a while? How would you benefit from either rotating to a different focus or taking a sabbatical from something? Have you seen benefits from doing this in the past?

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