We call graves “resting places,” but why wait that long? My bed is a resting place I can enjoy every day. Even when I can’t sleep anymore, it is still comforting. Add girlfriend-cuddles for support, and an extra 30 minutes in the morning can change the entire trajectory of my day.
The guest couch in my office is a resting place. When I’m stuck on a piece of writing, I close my laptop and lie down. Often, after just a few minutes, a creative breakthrough ensues.
Resting places aren’t just physical, of course. Star Wars is a resting place. I can venture into that universe whenever I need inspiration, courage, or simply a reminder that other creative people are toiling away behind their screens too. Music is a resting place. I have a whole playlist of calm songs I go to when I feel tired, need to think slowly, or write more somber, melancholic, thoughtful pieces.
A conversation can be a resting place. Not the excited, somewhat frantic, often alcohol-fueled kind you might have at the pub on a Friday. The kind that’s full of long silences, held over a drink at the kitchen table or sitting side by side on the couch, and that makes do with little to no words but restores your spirit all the same.
A walk can be a resting place. So can the bench you stumble upon in the course of it, or the random book you notice sitting on top of said bench. Half an hour of unplanned reading can do wonders for your energy.
Find your resting places. Create some if you can. Have lots of them. Put them everywhere. Access them as needed. Dip into rest often. Recharge repeatedly throughout the day.
Resting in peace should not be something we can only do after we die. Don’t relegate rest.