We must believe we are worthy of rest. We don’t have to earn it. It is our birthright.

Tricia Hersey

I want to be thoroughly used up when I die, for the harder I work the more I live.

George Bernard Shaw

I arrived in Glasgow, Scotland in 1990, after living at Taraloka retreat centre, as part of a residential women’s community. Over the span of my five years there, a communal timetable had provided a steady rhythm to my days—periods of collective work, study and meditation, interspersed with more private pursuits. I was living on my own in a bedsit in the Westend of Glasgow, making all my own decisions—when to get up, when and how long to meditate, where to bank and shop, what to eat, and how to kickstart a livelihood and establish a social life. My plan was to be self-employed, initially as a yoga and piano teacher. In those pre-internet days, I advertised my skills on hand-collaged posters, using photocopied images with Letraset text, and displayed them in local shops, cafes and libraries. I applied for a government start-up grant. I went to the local Buddhist center and started to make new friends. To the extent finances permitted, I explored the artistic life of the city—it was the year when Glasgow was “European Capital of Culture” and it was teeming with exciting performances. There were occasional outings into the nearby hills—one of the reasons I chose to move to Glasgow. All this kept me occupied to an extent, but there were many days when my diary was quite blank. Much as I also enjoyed my freedom, this was somewhat disconcerting—all this empty space—did it mean I was a failure, socially and professionally? In some corner of my mind, having a full schedule would be proof that I was leading a successful, well-connected, and meaningful life.

At the same time, I was preparing for ordination within the Triratna Buddhist order, “Going for Refuge” to ideals beyond conventions of career and status. Being rather than doing, as a commitment to a path of inner development, was part of the vision—and having a spacious lifestyle that allowed unhurried ways of being present fitted in with that. Of course, being of service to others was equally important, and as yet, I was lacking frameworks that would allow my energy to be put to the best possible use. I wanted to work in a way that would honor both—the longing for deep inner connection and the desire to contribute to the world.

The two quotes at the start of this article epitomize the contrast between these two poles. For the black theologian Tricia Hersey, rest is a countercultural form of resistance to capitalism and white supremacy. Her “Nap Ministry” project was born from her own habit of overwork.

With an unrelenting schedule that began at 5:30 am and ended at midnight, Hersey recognized that she “was repeating the violence that capitalism inflicted upon my Ancestors during slavery.” . . . . Where the grind culture asks us to be “hard and machine-like,” rest “keeps us tender.” She rested “for her ancestors, for all the centuries they couldn’t.”

(Jewish Currents)

My own mainly working-class ancestors were not literally enslaved, but I wonder how much freedom they really had within their uncompromising cultural and financial restrictions. It’s a lovely thought: to rest for them—even if they might not appreciate it and berate me for being lazy!

Now to the equally inspiring quote by George Bernard Shaw, about being “thoroughly used up” for the sake of the greater good. He lived according to this maxim until, age 41, he collapsed from exhaustion, and then was saved by moving into the spaciousness of the countryside, to rest and being nursed back to health. He must have learned to pace himself, as, during the second half of his life—he lived to 94—he managed to write more than 60 plays and became both a Nobel and Oscar winner. He kept pushing himself, following his passion for social justice, advocating, “Use your health, even to the point of wearing it out. That is what it is for.” (University of Pennsylvania)

I take this quote with a pinch of caution. There is wisdom in examining the reasons for burning yourself up in ceaseless output: are you mainly following your soul’s calling? Or do you risk burnout by submitting to cultural pressure, trying to prove your worth through productivity or covering up your fear of empty spaces? I am all for living passionately, but like many other followers of a spiritual path, mine is often a quieter, inner fire that isn’t identified with outer expression, even if that may flow from it organically. There are many ways to be of service and I have come to think that available time—genuinely open, unscheduled, spacious time—is one of them. Not despite the urgency of our times, but because of it. The world benefits from people who model an alternative to “grind culture.” It is not necessarily an easy option, as valuing intrinsic satisfaction over financial security and social standing threatens the status quo and easily triggers reactions in others, as well as in parts of myself. I am aware that is also a privileged position to be able to exercise this kind of choice.

I find encouragement in this quiet resistance through the work of Thomas Hübl, who leads international workshops on effective leadership, inspired by ancient wisdom traditions. He advocates spaciousness as a prime quality of a mature individual. Among other benefits, it enables the hosting and exploring of our stuck trauma patterns—personal, intergenerational, and collective—as a basis for holding space for others to heal and flourish. He calls it a “courageous path,” as turning towards our shadow is not an easy thing to do. You need to stand firmly with one leg in presence, an alignment with what he calls “soul.” An attractive aspect of this awareness work is access to currents of inspiration that fuel our passion and points us towards our calling in life. Thomas exhorts us to live mainly from “what we are for,” not from “what we are against.” The resulting sparkle communicates confidence for others to likewise look towards deeper levels of fulfilment.

Nowadays, many of us have more flexibility to calibrate a healthy balance between rest and productivity than our ancestors, who often worked grueling hours. So let’s make full use of this freedom and resist the lure of social media-driven competitiveness—“look how busy I am!” A sustainable pace of life needs to be attuned to the needs of the nervous system—and this varies from person to person depending on temperament, trauma history, and life circumstances. It also varies with the seasons of the year and through our life cycles. There certainly have been periods in my life when my calendar was densely packed—sometimes that was exhilarating and sometimes my health would suffer. I would like to make a case for maintaining vitality and zest as we grow older, not through frantic activity, trying to pack it all in before we die, but through compassionate and malleable receptivity within the energetic field we are part of, honoring all the needs, inner and outer. 

One of the areas of engagement my own trajectory has led to is working voluntarily for an initiative called “Resilience to Resist,” offering mindfulness meditation and other replenishing methodologies—like the Work that Reconnects (WTR)—to activists. I get to meet brave and kind people of all ages and backgrounds who put their freedom on the line in nonviolent actions designed to attract more public attention to the immense dangers of our times. Young activists are often close to burn out and in danger of forgetting to look after themselves. During a recent WTR workshop we asked participants to move to one of three areas in the room, symbolizing three dimensions of activism:  

a) Resisting: holding actions,

b) Reskilling: life-sustaining systems and practices, and

c) Remembering: shifts in consciousness.

We asked where they felt most comfortable and I expected they might gravitate towards Resisting, in the form of direct action, as the most familiar and obvious area. But no—most of us, facilitators and participants alike, clustered somewhere between Reskilling and Remembering, where we engage in nourishing activities such as crafts and meditation. It was a surprise: given the space to listen to themselves, these committed activists, shaped by a culture that prizes action above all else, gravitated instinctively towards stillness and nourishment. This renewed my respect for these young people, at times putting themselves out of their natural comfort zone in direct action, for the benefit of all of us. And it affirmed my belief that the inner work I do and the spaciousness I hope to model offer something of value in these times. My hope is that the workshop deepened the participants’ trust in resourcing themselves effectively, and that their insights ripple outward into the wider activist scene—shedding light on the gap between what activist culture demands and what actually sustains it.

Thirty-five years on from those early days establishing a livelihood, I still find empty spaces in my diary and more often than not, I delight in them—they are the result of continuous and considered choices of how to engage in this precious life, what to say “no” to and what avenues to pursue. More and more, I recognize the value of non “efforting”—particularly in the area of meditation and the creative work I do—art and writing. It frees up pathways for new patterns to arise and be expressed in this ceaseless dance. I treasure the opportunity to be in tune with the seasons, allowing for “wintering” phases and being older seems to make it easier to relax into the spaciousness. Another treasured element of a spacious life is to have the flexibility to respond readily to spontaneously arising needs. In meetings with my younger collaborators who often struggle with their full schedules, it is a pleasure to be able to offer to do that extra bit of work, like editing a promotional video without it feeling like a squeeze or playing with our grandchildren to give their parents a break.  

See more

Taraloka Buddhist Retreat Centre
Entering the Dreamspace (Jewish Currents)
Bernard Shaw: Selected Quotations (University of Pennsylvania)
Thomas Hübl

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