I'm a list maker and I always have been. I think the source of the habit is two-fold: part because of the inexplicable glee I get from crossing items off said list and part because my brain is incapable of remembering more than three things at any given time. And so I have lists: things to do, groceries/supplies to buy, books to read, projects to begin/complete-- even the list of lists is endless. They live in multiple notebooks, on my computer, in my phone, on the back of receipts in my wallet and in general, I am not sure if I'm bound by or held together by these endless notes.

In this lovely week away, where I've been given ample space and time to be with my best (and not best) self, I have found that I am at a bit of a loss when I not working my way through something (often in order to get to something else.) I've come to see that these notes are sometimes my things-to-do-other-than-what-I'm-currently-doing lists, or more honestly, ways-to-avoid-My-Stuff lists. Sound familiar? Even as I type this, I'm feeling the resurgence of an oft-repeated theme about productivity and responsibility, in contrast to relaxing, being and going with the flow. That definitely sounds familiar.

With the crashing waves and salt air as requisite catalysts to see myself with a little extra clarity, I recognize that I'm again in the habit of busy. It's not *real* busy, it's faux busy. Monkey busy. And so here with the sea, blue sky overhead, Boo snoring at my feet and dear friends working and playing on the adjacent porch I hereby make a pledge to be lazy. Present. Grateful and spacious. At least for the last 24 hours of my stay. And I send a little of that home to you, too.

Peace,

Jill