A book about presence, written by someone who seems barely present with or tolerant of the reader's actual experience of reading it: that's the central irony I kept returning to, and I was never quite able to shake it.
I don't so much mind the overstimulation leaking onto other areas of my life, but lashing out at the person I love most is the saddening, sobering consequence of a pattern continuing for far too long. Not only are the tasks not handled, but I come home irritable and no fun to be around. It's a lose-lose.
Our culture, and often our own psyche, demands constant peak performance. But a peak implies that there is a work-up to the top and a descent back down. Without that structure, its simply a plateau. In seasonal living, we flip this narrative.
As you breathe into your body, notice. Scanning from the crown of your head, slowly down into the neck, your shoulders, your limbs, your torso, down your legs and into your feet...notice. Is there a small tickle in your throat? An impending headache behind your eyes? Does your spine ache from shoveling snow? Do you remember how to feel the backs of your knees? Pay attention to your emotional body, too. Where does the nervousness reside? If you could pinpoint the constant thru
