sunbeam
You are listening to Notes with Kathy Patalsky.
" I was just lying in the sun . Something about that felt incorrect. Get up off the floor and start being productive. "
Today's episode, Sunbeam.
This morning I was lying on my living room floor in the middle of a warm sunbeam. The light coming through the windows in that sparkly late morning way, where everything feels soft and sleepy. I found the exact right spot and attached myself to the warm light.
The sunlight stretched across the carpet and on my face so brightly that I had to close my eyes for a moment. I could still smell the coffee from earlier in the morning, and I realized I was still wearing my pajamas. Mr. White, my cat was lying right next to me in the sun.
This black fur shining. in the light. His little purr going in and out, like tiny waves. He stretched his paw towards me and landed on my cheek, like he was checking to make sure I was still there. Across the room, my other cat was curled up on a chair, like a little cinnamon roll, completely asleep.
I turn my head over and I look at our coffee table and there's this little bughouse inside that bughouse is a one winged fly named eminore, that my daughter rescued a few weeks ago. I can see Einor. She's perched on a pile of her dried up rainium pedals, cleaning her face with her legs like she's a cat.
And outside there's a squirrel. She's scurrying around collecting nuts that my daughter left for her.
The birds were chirping outside. The house was quiet. There I was on this Friday morning, lying in a sunbeam.
I knew in a few hours I'd be picking up my daughter from school. We'd have a whole busy routine to begin. Time with friends. She'd tell me about her day. We'd have a busy evening that rolled straight into a very busy weekend, but right there, I was just lying in the sun and something about that felt incorrect. Like, I shouldn't be doing this. I should probably get up off the floor and start being productive. My cats, seemed perfectly comfortable with the situation. That is their life. Lying in sunbeams, doing nothing.
And yet me, the evolved human species was lying there thinking, oh my God, I can't just do this. I need to get up. What am I doing? And I did. I got up. I walked into my office where the light is artificial and bright. And the room is full of screens and wires and notifications and all things that make you feel like a very productive modern human.
Pens and paper. Cell phones, scissors on my desk.
There was this time, when my husband and I lived in an apartment right on the beach.
You could walk out your front door and there was the ocean, there was the sand. When we moved in, we said we would go on morning beach walks every day. Watch the sand pipers darting through the waves. Feel, the soft, squishy sand beneath our toes.
Somehow we almost never did those morning walks. There was just always something more important to do. Work, emails. I was shooting my cookbook at the time, so I'd be standing on top of a table, my camera facing downward shooting tofu and rice or smoothies.
There were deadlines and appointments.
We just look up out our window, see the ocean, and that just had to be enough. We lived right next to the beach and we barely walked on the sand. And now here I am lying on my floor, watching a fly clean its face in a sunbeam, which is so absurd, but it's also kind of wonderful.
If my daughter walked through the door right now, she wouldn't want to sit at my computer with me. She would want to lie in that sunbeam or go outside and collect fresh flowers for eminore, or go watch the squirrel or listen to the birds or wander around in the backyard looking for something tiny.
Because The world outside our homes is busy. It's loud, it's aggressive. It asks you to be prepared and productive and perfect all the time. But inside this house, I want something different. I want this to be the place where it's safe to slow down, where it's okay to lie in a sunbeam for a few minutes in the middle of the day. Or notice a rose in the corner of the garden, slowly peeling open its petals to burst with color. Quiet and calm for a little while in this space. Because out there the world will always ask more of you. But here at home, you're always allowed to lie in your sunbeam, I promise.
Maybe one day when my daughter is grown, maybe with kids of her own, she'll lie down in a sunbeam for a minute and she won't feel bad about it. All she'll see is a warm patch of sunlight on the floor in a quiet moment that belongs to her where she can rest and know that she's enough, exactly as she is.
This was Notes by Kathy Patalsky
For more, follow Kathy on Instagram or visit healthyhappylife.com
