Last week, I was sitting, much as I’m sitting right now, laptop open, typing away, trying to chip at the to-do list that never, ever ceases to be, no matter how many joyous strike-throughs I make on it, when the thought, Today you should do something just because you enjoy it, floated into my head. Because isn’t it the dirty little secret of adulthood that the demands, the to-do lists, the responsibilities are so overwhelming we can forget to give our spirits the sustenance they need to thrive? We’re so busy working, running errands, cleaning the house, cooking dinner, going to the gym, taking care of our children, perhaps even our parents, that we don’t realize our cups have been draining, inch by inch, and we’ve done nothing to fill them.
When the thought—You should do something just because you enjoy it—popped into my head, the second thought was, How did you forget this was important? Again? I don’t know how, I’ve surely learned this lesson before; it just seems I get so buried under what I have to do I can no longer see what I love to do. The fact is, when our cups are empty, when we haven’t given our souls and imaginations sustenance, everything else we do is half as good; everything else we work on is a paler shade of the vibrant hue it could be. So I’m recommitting to doing something I love, regularly, for no reason at all except that it fills my cup.
When all of this rebounded back to me in a random moment last week, I reached out to my husband, who was home from work that afternoon, and told him, I think I want to go to that antique warehouse in Newburgh. By myself. I haven’t done that in forever. He took our son, bid me enjoy myself, and I closed my laptop, tossed my to do list, and endeavored to spend as long or as little as I wanted doing one of my favorite things—looking for antiques and at old, beautiful things.
It wasn’t easy to close the computer and ignore the commands of the do list. I needed to make a trip to the grocery store. I needed to write a post for you. The podcast had to be edited. But I took a deep breath and thought, No one’s going to starve today in this house. And whatever I write for Substack will be better if I’m inspired, and one more afternoon without a new podcast episode, well, the world, I am certain of it, will keep spinning.
It’s the staid metaphor of the oxygen mask on the airplane: If you don’t put yours on first, you’re going to suffocate, and then you can’t help anyone else. As mothers especially, and especially if our children are small, as mine is, and especially if we’re trying to launch big projects, like a new business, as I am, we feel if we can just get a few minutes to ourselves to watch a four-minute video on cooking, or be left alone to lay down in bed with no one asking anything of us, we’ll be happy. But collapsing onto the couch isn’t filling your cup. It’s a biological necessity. Filling your cup, feeding your soul, that is a higher level of sustenance from biological necessity. If the only time we get to ourselves is when we’re too exhausted to think, our cups are still draining. When our cups are empty for too long, dried out and parched, they crack. And so do we.
What we truly need is to remember to make time to nourish ourselves and to find inspiration, the source from which a well-lived life springs. We need to add filling our cups to our to do list, and make it as important as anything else we prioritize.
When I was younger, unmarried and without a child, I read a lot of poetry and fiction. I don’t know how many of you still regularly read poetry and fiction, but I don’t. In a life of demands and busy tasks, poetry and fiction feel like rubies—something that I want, sure, what gal doesn’t, but something I can’t really afford to spend my time on. Yet, that doesn’t lessen the fact that I believe both poetry and fiction are necessary. If my child looked at me and said, I don’t need those things, I’d be heartbroken. They make the world beautiful, even in its ugliness, and teach us about ourselves. They make of life, and our experiences in it, beautiful patterns that enliven, and reveal to us some slight understanding of what is largely a grand mystery. They fill our cups. But making time for those things? Forget it! I have returns to make, and a blog post to get out, social media to post to, and the baby needs…
And so here we find ourselves, drained, wondering why we’re snapping at everyone who crosses our path, and why our work lacks vitality and our hearts are sluggish.
Galatians 5:22-26 talks about the fruits of the spirit—love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. In that list are all the things that go right out the window when our cups are empty. When we’re drained, tired and rundown, when all we’ve been doing is feeding the machine and not our souls, we aren’t loving, but angry; we aren’t joyful, but depressed; we aren’t at peace, but stressed; we aren’t patient, but short-fused; we aren’t kind, but brusque with the people we love; we struggle to be good, faithful, gentle, and more likely than not our self-control is weakened, as we reach for foods we shouldn’t eat or pour ourselves one too many drinks to take the edge off.
When we carve out space to harvest the fruits of the spirit, we’re simply better for it, and so is everything we put our hands to and everyone around us.
I spent about an hour and a half walking around the warehouse, and it was glorious. That’s not even a lot of time, not in a thrift store, but it was enough so that by the time I left, I felt calmer, I felt more peaceful, and as if the things I had looked at, picked up, turned around, admired, had given me some nourishment. I snapped some pictures of beautiful things. And while I only purchased one single item—a French, flax linen nightgown from the early 20th Century, in absolutely perfect condition, embroidered with the initial “A” (my real name is Addolorata!)—that didn’t matter. To give myself a little sliver of time where no one was asking me for a snack, or talking to me about real estate or what’s scheduled for next weekend, where no computer screen glowed before me, and no time constraint was upon me, and doing it all in an environment that inspires me with ideas and thoughts and feelings, filled my cup, if even just a little bit.
So if you want to join me, I’m pledging to make the time. I’m re-reminding myself that some days I just need to leave the laundry unfolded, cancel the calls, abandon the obligation, because the list does not end. The truth is, it won’t. If we don’t make space for our spirits, no one else will. And if we neglect our spirits, we’ve neglected it all.
Thanks for being here with me, truly.
Love,
Dolores
Remembering to fill our cups
I struggle with this as well! Thank you for the reminder and encouragement