The Practice of Creating Space

I've been writing this from the slightly unfamiliar territory of... not really having anywhere I need to be.

I've consciously taken my foot off the pedal for a little while, and I've been noticing what happens when I wake up without immediately thinking about where I need to go, what needs doing, who I need to reply to, what I'm teaching, or which of the many sticks I'm currently holding might need my attention.

And I've been noticing that stopping is actually quite an interesting practice.

Because just because you have time off doesn't necessarily mean your whole system immediately gets the memo.

When the body takes a little longer to stop

There's almost a changing of gears that has to happen. A slow assimilation into a different rhythm, where the brain gradually stops scanning for the next thing and you begin to remember what it's like to have some actual space around you.

Recently, somebody called me about work.

I could very easily have answered. Part of me automatically wanted to.

Instead, I consciously declined the call and sent a message back.

Such a tiny thing, but I noticed how important it felt.

Because sometimes creating space isn't simply about putting an out of office on or going somewhere different. It's about protecting the space you've created once you're there.

Saying, that can wait.

Allowing yourself to be unavailable.

Letting things carry on without you for a little while.

Following the changing rhythm of the season

Perhaps there's something of the season in this too.

There's a particular point towards the latter part of summer when, although the season is still very much here, you can begin to feel those tiny whispers of change.

The evenings are subtly different. There's something in the light. The geese begin to make themselves heard overhead.

We're no longer climbing towards the height of summer. We've passed the peak and, almost imperceptibly, we're beginning the long journey back down.

I love that nature doesn't seem to rush this transition.

There is no sudden ending. No need to pack summer away before it's finished. Instead,

there's a gradual softening. A subtle turning towards what comes next, while still being fully inside what is here.

Creating space

Maybe there's an invitation in that for us too.

Not to rush towards the next season.

Not to immediately fill the space we've made.

But perhaps to soften our grip a little.

To savour what's here.

To leave some space unfilled.

And to notice what happens when we don't immediately reach for the next thing.

I'm practising it right alongside you.

With love,

Emilie x

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