How This Hypocrite Found Rest To Be The Best Form Of Bad-ass-ity Weaponry.
{Summer in Paris, ca.1937}
I am a judgmental person.
Ironic. Because most days you can find me teaching peace and love.
Teaching forgiveness and non-attachment.
But the truth is: I’m a total hypocrite. I am incredibly judgmental.
Let’s get this straight. I am an extremely hard worker. I love my job. And I am completely dedicated to serving my students, my readers and my private clients.
And, I am kind of elitist when it comes to my work ethic. I don’t understand people that are on Facebook all day. I loathe people who ask me to meet them for coffee to chat just because. One word: No. I need Botox from the raising of my eyebrows at people who say that they just don’t know how they are going to make more money, even as they are carefully Instagramming a #selfie of their practiced-pretty face.
I want to punch the next woman who proclaims that she just needs a Me Day as she meanders back to her SUV, with her Yoga mat strung over her perfect-little-Lululemon ass.
Don’t get me wrong. Remember that part where I said I’m a hypocrite? I drive an SUV. And I wear Lululemon over my not-so-perfect ass.
But this is why I feel like I’m better than those other women:
{The Women’s Welding Champion of Ingalls Shipbuilding Corp, 1943}
I Work. Hard. Every Day.
One thing that you need to know about me: when life hands me lessons, it doesn’t really just hand them over in a pretty blue box. No, more like a universe-sized bitch-slap smack-down. That’s the way I roll. And I am here to report that I recently received one of these said lessons.
I got sick. And not just a little sick. I got a lot sick. Like three-weeks-in-bed sick. Like the kind-of-sick that made me… dare I say it?…
… Unproductive.
And this is a hard pill to swallow for an impassioned-judgmental-elitist like myself. Because there was no amount of willpower or bad-ass-ity that was going to overcome this bout of germs.
And that’s when I heard the Best Quote Ever. From Jason Bourne. Yes, the fictional character from the movies.
“You need rest, monsieur. You are no good to anyone, least of all yourself, without it. Find a bed, I cannot help you.”
“Rest is a weapon,” said Jason, repeating a phrase he had come to believe was a vital truth, vital for survival in a world he loathed.
{Paris Pierre-Yves Petit, 1920}
Ok, so here’s a guy who has been custom-tailored to be a bad-assed killing machine. He pushes himself to the limits of physical endurance. He’s practically a superhero. And bonus: he’s a nice piece of eye candy. Yet, he sees rest as a weapon. This is an idea that even I can get on board with.
Because the real truth is: I am an overachiever because it makes me feel good about myself. And when I am not allowed by evil forces, aka sickness, to be productive, I am stuck with a head that starts to spin stories about how worthless I am. Or how I’m going to lose everything I’ve ever worked for. Or that nobody loves me. Or that my entire business is going to fold. Or that I am going to get fat. Believe me, it’s fun being in this noggin.
And the egotistical-judgmental front that I put up is really just a smoke-screen to keep me from having to face the truth of my own insecurities. To keep me from having to face the most dangerous of fears: that if I quit hustling, people will find out that I am unlovable.
So, I took Jason’s advice. I used rest as a weapon.
I found that rest is not only a weapon against exhaustion.
It’s a weapon against sickness.
It’s a weapon that helps me heal.
But most of all, it was a weapon that forced me to come face to face with my deep dark fear. And I do love me a good fear-face-off. Because this is what I teach:
I teach that love is stronger than fear.
That self-love is thousands-of-times more powerful than any idiot-story that my mind wants to create.
And that this weapon-for-love offered me an invitation to heal the most important thing of all: My fear.
Because in the war between love and fear, love always wins. Fear is just an illusion. A scary little story that my mind entertains itself with.
But love? Love is real. And it takes many forms. It’s the smile on my daughter’s face. It’s the note of gratitude from my student. It’s the kiss on my forehead from the man I love. It’s the soft fur on my puppy’s ears. It is the smell of rain on asphalt. It doesn’t need to be earned. Love just is.
And sometimes love takes the form of rest.
Sometimes, even though I hate to admit it, it takes the form of a Me Day. When it it takes that form, we need to let it. We need to stop our hustle for love, approval and appreciation.
And just lie down.
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Meadow DeVor
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