The other day, I found myself in a very unusual situation: it was 12 midnight on a Friday and I was staring at the barrel of an hour of free time.
On Fridays I am with my children (my work week is Monday to Thursday). So, I would typically balance eight-month-old Evelynn on my hip with my left arm, while using my right arm to race cars down the faded red slide on our playset with two-year-old Emiliano, waiting until 1 pm to load them into the car and go pick up five-year-old Ella from school. But on that specific day, both babies had taken an early nap. Hence this rare, unscheduled hour of me time.
For a second, I was scared. Should I get ahead of my chores so I have free time later to hang out with the kids? Or maybe try to exercise? Should I try taking a nap too? Or wait, should I finally start reading Strangers?
Then I took a deep breath and stopped to evaluate the facts:
1) I had an hour before I had to get the babies up and ready to leave.
2) I did it No I want to do anything with a screen.
4) I wanted to be outside, preferably moving.
3) Anything I did had to be easily interruptible, in case Evelynn or Emiliano woke up early.
This ruled out a quick workout in the yard. Over the years, I’ve learned that when I’m interrupted mid-squat, I get cranky. Trying a new baking recipe wasn’t in the cards either. (At this stage of life, nothing is more discouraging than a sink full of dirty dishes.) Instead, I walked into our backyard and grabbed a pair of pruning shears.
For the next 30 minutes, I fell into a relaxing trance, cutting white roses from the bush and sliding the stems into a vase. When I heard Evelynn’s soft cry through the baby monitor, I already had a lush flower arrangement. Throughout the afternoon, as I played make-believe and refilled water bottles, I looked at the vase on the table. Seeing those roses in the shape of clouds was like taking a deep breath.
Now, whenever I encounter moments of loneliness, I go out to the garden and look for flowers. Sometimes it’s just a peek into the shed, where I pick up some wild poppies growing in the gravel. Other days, I have time to climb up on the stool to cut purple branches from our jacaranda tree. But every time I decide to spend a few minutes alone (touching leaves, measuring the length of stems, and playing with color combinations), I end up feeling revitalized and grounded.
So, I’m curious to know, how do you like to spend your time alone? Do you have sections to fill with ongoing projects? Or micro-moments, where (like me) you choose activities that you can pick up and stop at any time? I would love to know.
PS: A fun memoir that you can easily jump in and out of, and eight readers share their hobbies.
