1. Time Away
Vacation time. Books from the library, websites, reviews. "You should definitely check out this restaurant." A flight, a bus ride, a long car ride. Mixtapes. Luggage. Arriving and unpacking into drawers, setting things on nightstands. A beer, a cocktail, a joint. Sitting on the porch, the deck, the patio. Stepping out into muggy heat, dazzling sunshine. A walk in the sand. Menus. Rain. Strip malls and bargain stores. Historic districts. Museums. Waterfalls. Babies napping in the carrier or in the stroller. Late dinners. Room service. Hotel pools. Sounds in the night. Really big parking lots. Souvenir shops. Tantrums. Endless photographs. The water tastes different. New transit systems. Coming home, smelling the way your house smells, getting under your own covers, dreaming again.
2. Permission Not To Be Helpful
The best thing about going to my parents' house is that, at this point in the life cycle, being helpful feels like a choice. It's one I usually make—yes, of course I'll do the dishes, or round up the recycling, or put together a quick lunch. Of course I will look up the hours for the store, or help unpack the groceries, or flip the laundry. But there's also the luxury of knowing that if I want to, I can say no, or I'll get the next round, or I'll get to it later. Permission not to be helpful makes the choice to do so more of a gift than an obligation, and I appreciate that very much.
3. Something "Unproductive"
I refuse to monetize my hobbies. It's not that I don't think my knitting, pickle-making, or baking is "just okay"—on the contrary, I'm good at all that stuff—but the chance to do something that is only for me, because I want to, is a gift. It's not "unproductive" in the sense that nothing is produced, or even that it can't be leveraged (I have definitely traded knitting and canned goods for other wonderful things), but it's "unproductive" because anything I do with it is outside of capitalist time/goods-for-money systems, and that's the way I like it. It's a very, very small fuck-you to the endless yawp of hustle culture.
4. Connection to Art and Nature
I am not very good at remembering that forests are a thing, nor am I very good at walking around in them (my what-if brain goes into overdrive, offering up such goodies as "what if I roll my ankle and fall into the ravine and I can't get up and I die there" or "what if I pass a guy on the trail with my son and the guy turns around and murders us silently somehow" or "what if I forget my snack"), but every once in a while, the stars align and I enjoy my nature time. My 2020 highlight was a hike I did with my mom in the Dundas Nature Conservancy, where I allayed my anxiety by counting the number of 70-year-olds I saw hiking, and reminding myself that, if they could do it, then I, a 30-something with no underlying health conditions, could probably walk around for an hour under some trees. Anyway, I am not outdoorsy but aspire to be; this particular rest is not restful for me, really, but a girl can dream.
5. Solitude to Recharge
Sometimes, I just need to lie in bed and scroll through my phone. I read the archives of advice columns, I find weird Instagram accounts, I remember people I went to high school with and look them up. When I get bored of that, I lie in bed and do the crossword, or read stale magazines. I read library books that are due soon. I listen to audiobooks and doze. I pull the covers around me and punch my pillows down, flipping them to the cool side. I shove the covers away and stick my leg out, letting the breeze of the room soothe me. I keep my door firmly closed; the sounds of the house swirl around me, and I let them.
6. A Break from Responsibilities
Actually, I lied: the best part of going to my parents' house is getting to take a break from deciding what to cook for dinner. Even when I get pulled into the kitchen/offer my help, I'm off the hook for the planning. I don't have to shop for the stuff. I don't have to leaf through cookbooks, deciding on rice bowls or ramen or pulled pork or big salads. I can just show up, do some chopping, and then eat a meal! It's ridiculous how happy that makes me. I love helping without leading.
7. Stillness to Decompress
I am not really a "yoga person," in that I do yoga maybe 12 times a year and every time I'm surprised by how terrible I am at it: my hamstrings are like an overtuned guitar, and my stomach and boobs prevent some seemingly basic poses from being properly executed. But there's a moment in every yoga class, when the focus is on the breath instead of the movement, that makes my lungs feel like two huge balloons. The inside of my head is a cavern, instead of a buzzy hive. I stop thinking about what's next, what I have to do, or if I'm performing my own life properly; instead, I just breathe.
8. Safe Space
My favourite thing in the world is the sound of someone laughing from the next room; I like my own space, and knowing that someone else is nearby and happy.
9. Alone Time at Home
One of the biggest pandemic struggles, for me, was the fact that were were just together all the time. My partner worked from home; I was working from home and doing the bulk of the daytime childcare; Noah was attached to both us like barnacles; there was nowhere to go if we did go out. But I am a person who needs some alone time at home. I need uninterrupted time to write, to make things, to be creative. I like being alone during cleaning or big cooking projects. I chat to myself—it's how I process things that weigh heavy on my soul, or work through thorny creative blocks. I like to exercise in my underwear, which was less appealing when my home-gym was in the throughway for my sister's room. I try to give Mike a few hours a day of the house to himself—these are usually work-day hours, which aren't the same as true solo hours, but at least there's no kid in the background, weeping because the wrong kind of carbohydrate is on his plate. And I need that alone time as well, more than a few house a week, more than a day a month. All rest is like that, these days, but this one feels the most pressing, the most like there's a deficit.
