A while back I took
six months out of paid work to focus on my well-being. Or, as I saw it then, to stop
feeling rotten all the time.
Life had been
overwhelming, family needs had been complex, work had been deflating, my house
was cluttered and unclean, projects sat neglected. I had been unrelentingly
busy. And my health, left on the back
burner, gradually but inexorably boiled over. A not uncommon story.
I hoped my well-being
might return with a complete rest. For some weeks, I did plenty of sitting
around; I sat and I read. Just read.
Luxurious. Then, for something completely different, I went on a snorkelling
holiday. Amazing.
When I returned, I
started on the mess of overdue tasks and chores and neglected projects nagging at me from every surface in my house. I wrote a long list and
gradually started to tick things off. My house became more pleasant as the
layers of dust disappeared. Satisfying.
But nearly three
months into my break, I felt edgy, maybe less exhausted, but definitely nothing
I like my idea of 'well-being'. And I felt like a failure: I had the luxury of not
having to work for a period without worrying about money, something that many
could not, but I still just felt bad.
It seemed I was just
no good at 'balance'. Being 'in the now' had never happened. When I thought about
my lack of zest, I felt anxious. And not once had I wanted to spring into the air on a beach with the sun as back-lighting.