The Promise of Productivity

and the pursuit of peace

I used to sink like a rock. Literally. One of my favorite things to do when I was in a pool was to hold my breath, cross my legs, and sink down, down, down, until I came to rest on the bottom. It was peaceful there, with all the sounds from the surface muted, and the solid floor holding me firm. Eventually I would run out of air and push up toward the surface again, breaking through to the splashing, the sunlight, and the laughter all around. I couldn’t stay in that place on the bottom of the pool, but there was an expansiveness to the calm that lingered even as I broke through the surface.

Of course, for someone who sinks like a rock, remaining on the surface requires a lot of effort. It could be exhausting just keeping my head above water. Inner tubes, and then pool noodles (what an invention that was!!), helped keep me afloat, but they also kept me from just swimming freely. It’s not that I couldn’t swim, just that it required constant exertion to maintain the status quo that seemed effortless for those around me. Maybe they knew something I didn’t, had developed some skill that my practice had not yet perfected. Or maybe, what made my party trick of sitting on the bottom for as long as my breath lasted effortless, while they had to work to stay down, was the same thing that made it so hard for me to keep up with them on the surface. Maybe buoyancy was woven into their frames like gravitas was woven into mine. I was a scrawny little thing for my entire childhood, so maybe I just didn’t have any fat on my bones and those same lean bones were like paddling with toothpicks. Whatever the case, what I learned was that if I moved my arms and legs faster, with smaller motions, I could offer the illusion that I was expending the same amount of energy as my friends, while actually exerting much more effort than they were, and than I had been previously.

I believed that if I kept working harder, it would become easier. With enough effort I would gain the skills that my peers already seemed to possess. I did develop skills, quite proficiently, even. However, the skills I developed included looking like everything was okay when I was exhausted, so that I could be like everyone else who looked okay. Or resting my hand on the edge and bracing one foot on the wall of the pool so I could discretely rest when I was too tired to continue and too aware of the social stigma that would come if I wasn’t part of the group. Or lingering at the edge of the group on the shallow end where I could find stability on tiptoe. Eventually the enjoyment I had once found in the pool flowed through my clenched fingers and was lost to me. It was easier at that point to decline the invitations to swim than it was to keep pretending. It felt like a relief; I still sank like a rock, but I didn’t have to pretend that I didn’t if I just stayed out of the pool.

If I could go back in time, I think I’d tell my younger self that it’s okay— more than okay, it is good— to be who you are. I’d tell 12 year old Elizabeth that what makes her distinct from others is beautiful, whether the others recognize it or not. I wish I’d known then that the promise of productivity is that if we just try hard enough we can be like everyone else. It’s a promise as empty as the Farscape¹ scene that plays in my head on long days: grueling work in the hot sun while everyone repeats, “Tomorrow is a rest day.” — and tomorrow never comes. I think I’d tell 12 year old Elizabeth that what she knows in the muted moments at the bottom of the pool are the most important things, that the pursuit of peace trumps the promise of productivity every time, that in the kingdom diversity is not deficiency.

It’s taken me a long time to learn that what I practiced silencing in myself when I was younger is what I am relearning to hear as wisdom in my forties. I have spent too many years chasing the promise of productivity, only to find that my ability to conform to the external image of those I “should” be like does not actually make me any more like them. Pretending to be someone else doesn’t make me someone else. So rather than trying to keep step with all the someone elses, I’ve been trying to learn how to keep step with the One who knows me and loves me and made me who I actually am. As I’ve walked in pace with the One who is Peace, I’ve been learning to live at the pace of my soul. It feels a lot like sitting on bottom of the pool. I can still hear the ruckus above, but down here it is calm and quiet.

The path of lingering in these pockets of peace has led to some shifts over the last few years. I write more poetry now, because I’m no longer afraid it’s out of step with those around me to process the world this way. It’s in step with The Poet, and part of how we walk in the garden together in the cool of the day, which is all that really matters. I paint more, because it allows me to work out the questions with the One who is the Answer, whether or not others “get” my paintings. I’m carving out more space in my life to linger in these pockets, which means while all of my coworkers and friends are returning to school in the next few weeks… I’m not. After 23+ years in education, I’m entering a season of sinking into the deep, of settling into the softness of the sand. Rather than shifting careers, I’m shifting postures: from chasing the promise of productivity to pursuing pockets of peace. One of the spaces I have found the most settling as I make my way back to myself² is in the practice of Spiritual Direction. Listening continues to lead me in this direction, and I am now in the process of becoming a Spiritual Director myself, through the Anam Cara Apprenticeship. It simultaneously feels like a monumental shift and like a single step in the direction I’ve already been moving for a long time.

I don’t sink like a rock like I used to. On the contrary, I’ve now got some fat on my bones and it no longer takes all my energy to keep my head above water. The surprising gift is that it still takes a lot of work to tread water, but it is effortless to float on my back. In floating, I have rediscovered my childlike wonder for water. It has all the goodness of weightlessness held by water and the muted sounds in my submerged ears, but now… I can see the stars above me and I am free.

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A Painting

I started a painting about a year ago, when a friend and I were on retreat at St. Gertrude’s Monastery (as is our annual habit). I tried to work on it throughout the year, but just couldn’t make any progress. We were at St. Gertrude’s again at the end of July and I was not only able to make progress, but I finished it! Somehow, it feels like a fitting companion to this piece.

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What’s Working, What’s Not

What’s working for me right now:

• Making slow oatmeal for breakfast. It only takes me a minute or so to microwave the packets, but in an effort to resist efficiency as the measure of all good I started making oatmeal on the stove. That takes 5 minutes, which is just enough time for me to empty the dishwasher at a leisurely pace. Plus I get to decide what the additives are, which just feels good.

• Making sun tea. I like drinking iced tea, but it always feels tedious to make. I think it’s because I’d have to calculate how much tea and how much sugar (because steeped black tea is too bitter not to be sweet tea) and attend to how long it’s been steeping (this might be why it’s always too bitter). But sun tea is magic. I put a few teabags in a half gallon mason jar, fill it up with water, set it on my front step, and by the time dinner rolls around we have perfect iced tea, no sugar needed.

• Fixed Hour Prayer. Being at St. Gertrude’s for a few days invited me back into a habit of fixed hour prayer that I used to have. It’s a really life giving rhythm, and one on which the other rhythms of my day hang. Phyllis Tickle’s The Divine Hours make it easy enough for me to feel like I’m back in the rhythm of monastery prayer, with morning, mid-day, evening, and nighttime prayers.

• Writing for the Black Barn. Every week I write a poetry article for the Black Barn, a digital community hosted on the Mighty Networks platform. I’ve been doing this for a little over two years now, and it’s still a really life-giving rhythm for me.

What’s NOT working for me right now:

• The Productivity Planner. In anticipation of this season holding less structure and still needing to be fruitful, I picked up The Productivity Planner to help me make progress on some ongoing projects and prioritize and schedule my time. As it turns out, my aim and the planner’s aim are not the same. There are some things I really like about the planner as far as layout and structure. But it offers the promise of productivity, which I no longer want to pursue as the highest good.

• Resting. I want rest to be working for me. But I’m struggling with this aspect of slowing down. It’s like my brain says, “I want to rest.” and my body says, “I need to rest.” and my nervous system says, “Rest isn’t an option. Rest means we’re falling behind.” Rewiring is a process, y’all. And I don’t think it’s a quick one. So, I’m working on resting. And slowing down.

What’s working for you right now?

1. You’ll be hard pressed to convince me that Farscape is not the best sci-fi show ever. It’s my favorite. Partly because I forget the muppets aren’t actually real, and partly because the whole series is a fantastically prismatic exploration of what it is to be human. It’s the best.

2. It’s been an interesting process to pursue the heart of God and find that He has always held me there in His heart, that the me I was made to be is far more like the girl held in the wonder of sinking than the woman who needs to get just one more thing done before bed.