What Rest Made Possible
An Ode to the Dreamer and the Dream
Cuddled up on my usual side of the bed, I can feel my body relaxing deeper, sinking into my pillow, and my eyelids getting lower. Before I reach to turn off my bedside lamp, I grab it one more time. I run my hand over the cover, my pointer finger gliding over my name. Finally, I’m holding my debut book. This moment feels surreal. Then, she comes to mind, and I smile.
My 23-year-old self. My dream girl.
She’d just finished grad school at American University in Washington, DC. She didn’t want to wait to land a job in her career as a broadcast journalist. She knew she needed to get to New York City immediately. With or without a job. And she did. She didn’t know what would happen next, but she had a deep, pulsing trust that she’d be okay.
I don’t think she ever quite settled into living in the city. Since move-in day, she hadn’t stopped moving. A day in her life looked like constant chaos and hustle, not just for the need to survive in New York City, but also for the need for validation. She thought the best thing in the world was to be seen, or at least to prove that she was in motion. She craved it. She needed it. Anxious to rest out of fear she’d miss another opportunity, or another chance to perform.
Running towards recognition.
Running from herself.
The chase didn’t feel like anxiety to her at that moment. It felt exhilarating. It felt exciting. She was used to the anxiety attacks that preceded the thing she wanted. Or at least thought she wanted. Until the day she got it all.
Getting everything she wanted made her realize she actually didn’t desire any of it at all. She stopped and started to slowly shift. Her whole life was full of outside noise that prepared her for this career. What did she really want? Who is she without the validation? Who is she without the expectations she’d put on herself?
She asked those questions, and rest was where she found her answers.
I often think about my 23-year-old self, not because her hustle made this possible, but because her exhaustion taught me that there was another way. There had to be another way. She ran so hard, so fast, that she eventually learned the power of standing still.
This book exists because I chose ease over noise.
Because I let go of who I thought I had to be and made space for who I already was.
Rest made ease possible. Rest made romance possible. Rest made abundance possible. Rest made pleasure possible.
I climb out of bed for a second and take the book to my living room, admiring my bright roses that bring light to the dim apartment. I reorganized my coffee table with my debut book as the new centerpiece. “Wow,” I think to myself. Rest made this possible.
