inbox.

If you observe a sabbath, this feeling is not unfamiliar. You are well-acquainted with what others think of as the awkward restraints of just being . You understand its essential, restorative purpose — and marvel at others’ allergy to it. Why are we so terrified of stillness? To be still is an invitation to reckon with our smallness, our powerlessn

Sleep is fine (but it has to be “productive” deep sleep, no naps!!); self-care is fine (so long as it also involves buying things, resisting aging, etc. etc.); exercise is great (disciplining and regimenting the body). But truly doing nothing, not even birding, not even gentle walking, not even organizing , where’s the moral value in that?

I’ve developed a certain tenderness for the glitch: the riddled, dysfunctional thing that evades the conditions of what might be expected and what might be known, rupturing unfamiliar territories, or maybe a glimpse into a second reality that has been there all along

It’s a bit like dreaming, which is always a bit like remembering.