On energy

:: the strength and vitality required for sustained physical or mental activity. -OxfordLanguages

I’ve been thinking a lot about burnout. I recently heard someone say on a podcast that to be “burnt out” didn’t mean being overworked so much as it meant not doing the right work. This sounded good, but I’m not so sure I agree.

Sometimes when we don’t have satisfaction in one area of our lives, we open up new channels. I know I’m guilty of this, anyway. I want to bloom but don’t see it happening, so I start something new. Then I do so again. And again. But what if what I’m being called to do (or calling myself to do) is simply take some time to let my energy and expertise build?

Richard C. McPherson, a talented and wise friend I met some years ago thanks to his stellar writing, recently told the rest of our Unleash crew about the superblooms that sometimes grace California's deserts. While it doesn’t happen every year, what makes the poppy and bluebell blooms “super” is their suddenness, unpredictability, and expansiveness. A staggering number of these flowers arrive at once and blanket fields in color and soft beauty that change the very appearance of our planet from space.

When I lived in San Antonio, I remember a smaller version of this delight when people would drive to the Hill Country to see the bluebonnets explode across arid fields in late March or April. For weeks or months, the flowers were “on it,” as though they’d been waiting for the opportunity to emerge wholly, to reach up toward the sun.

Some of us are like that.

We wait, we think, we plan, we take steps, and then there is the moment that everything seems to bloom. To think we can have balance in day-to-day life can mean putting undue pressure on ourselves during dormant times.

So much of nature holds back, waiting for the right time, taking time to transform or delay development until the conditions are right. Nature responds in a way that is not sentimental or worried about fulfillment.

Meanwhile, so many of us go in two (or more) directions at once, hoping we’ll increase our odds of blooming quickly, intensely … but science class taught us that potential energy is about an object or organism’s inputs and position.

And maybe potential builds when we hold back.

I say this while reflecting on residencies and their value to writers. I think about technology’s emphasis on efficiency and subsequent erosion of attention. To exert too much energy is to work against ourselves, to burn out or tighten into what may feel stronger at first but leaves us more vulnerable than ever. We need to ease on forward and know when to step aside. And maybe sometimes we need to wait before beginning something new.

If we allow the energy we need to build, we may find ourselves blooming—surging ahead—and creating something more magnificent than we can imagine while grinding away.

I was feeling a little burnt out over April. In the last few weeks, I began taking blackout periods in my day, where I refuse to answer emails (I’m not ignoring any of you). I’m slowly, ever-so-slowly, writing new things. I’m planting flowers.

I’m doing all this not to hide or withdraw (don’t get me started on the messaging around that) but to nurture. Because to be burnt out doesn’t mean to do too much. (We’re always doing, even when we’re resting.) It means to try to go in more than one direction at once or to try to hurry along what needs time to build.

All I know is that where I want to be is right here. Writing. And in a way, I’m also waiting. And that’s okay.

Photo by John Fowler