A couple times a week, I walk through the neighborhood next to my office. I call my mom, turn on a podcast, or listen to the same song 15 times in a row until I ruin it for myself. “Easy on Me” came out about a month ago and it’s on track to be my most played song of 2021.

I cannot tell you how many times I’ve been walking and thought to myself, “Man, if only I could get hit by a car right now”.

Just hear me out.

In my fantasy, I’m hit by a very small car. Nothing bigger than a 2017 Toyota Corolla. Ideally even smaller and possibly electric. With the car barely moving when I’m struck, I imagine hitting the ground no harder than I do when I’m riding my road bike and I can’t unclip my shoes in time as I slow to a stop. After falling in what feels like slow motion, the embarrassment and shock hit me before the pain really does, so I’m able to pop back up relatively quickly when I’m on my bike, but this is a car, so I’m a little slower to my feet.

I go to the hospital as a precaution. I forgive and befriend the Nissan Leaf driver who took their eyes off the road just for a moment to look for their re-useable silverware when they hit me. We have plans to get coffee in a couple weeks. The nurses, who find me particularly charming considering the circumstances, bandage up my road rash and send me home, where I’m told to rest for at least a week before returning to normal activities.

And that’s pretty much it, that’s my fantasy. If you think fantasy is odd, wait until you hear about my sexual one.

As I said before, I like to walk. Sometimes I depart for my midday walk with the pep of someone who had a balanced breakfast, a rewarding work out, and a healthy bowel movement—all by 10AM. That’s the marker of a good day, right? What a trifecta.

Other days, it’s less of a spirited walk and more of a dispassionate trudge. Just imagine me walking through a quaint neighborhood with the posture and speed of a man who is dragging his kids behind him on a sled. Except I’m not dragging any children. I’m just a 31-year-old with terrible posture whose lack of flexibility from hamstring to shoulder blades was deemed “concerning” by her physical therapist.

On the spirited days, I enjoy the sun beams blasting through the pollutants in the atmosphere, or I feel grateful for my snow boots as I walk across people’s un-shoveled sidewalks without getting my socks wet. I might even snap a picture of someone’s nicely manicured tulip garden or clever yard sign. 

On the trudging days, my afternoon walk turns into a mental check in with every facet of my life:

Did that last session go OK?  Did you really help that person or are you just a fraud with a dimly lit office and some letters after your name?

When was the last time you exercised? What about stretching? Your physical therapist said you need to do that every day. Every day, Kristy! You saw his face when you could barely touch your toes.

What did you prep for dinner? It better be healthy. And hopefully something with vegetables, preferably ones that you grew yourself.

Oh, and did you make progress on that Self-Help book you borrowed from a friend? Lord knows you need it. Your friend even thinks so. That’s why she recommended it to you.

And there’s that documentary on the opioid epidemic you should try to watch tonight. Gotta stay informed.

And don’t forget that podcast on the efficacy of psychedelics in treating depression. There’s also that other one that tells you where you need to invest your money so you can retire by 70.

Speaking of money, did enough clients show up to their session this week?

Also, I think you need to clean your windows and baseboards this weekend. Oh, and you need to buy Swiffer Wet Jet pads next time you’re at Target. Don’t forget. Wait—did I ever move those towels to the dryer?

What is today? Tuesday? It is it Grandpa’s birthday today? Shit I need to call him.

It’s usually about that time when I imagine a grey Prius rounding the corner at 10mph to send me souring into a freshly delivered pile of mulch.

Because that’s not even the whole list. I didn’t even get to the part where I worry about my environmental footprint, COVID safety protocols, what I’m going to get everyone for Christmas, or if switching to Geico would really save me 15% or more on car insurance. I mean, I don’t even have kids. Can you imagine if I had kids? Some of you are like, “yeah dude, I have kids. Fuck off”. And I will, but just give me a couple more paragraphs.

Some days, the list feels manageable. Like the sled I’m dragging is motorized and it’s chugging along behind me all on its own. Other days it feels like the sled has been bolted to the ground, but I don’t know that, so I just keep pulling and pulling. Or I am slowly dragging it, but the noise it’s making disrupts everyone around me, and I regret being alive. I’m not the only one who has dragged metal patio furniture across concrete before, right? What a sound.

Anyway, the fantasy of getting hit by a car provides me with an indisputable reason to not have to do anything.

Oh, I know I told you I would get that report in by next week but I actually got hit by a car…so I’m going to need an extension.

No, I would totally train for that 10K with you but I actually got hit by a car so…I think I’m just going to sit on the couch and stare out the window.

Yeah, I was going to order a kale salad but I got hit by a car so…I think I’ll just have mac and cheese.

I’ve struggled with slowing down for as long as I can remember. When I was younger, I played sports so instead of getting hit by a car, I would think about what injury would excuse me from doing things without being too much of an inconvenience to my daily life. I didn’t want anything to happen to my legs or arms; that would be too burdensome. Or my face because then I’d have to confront my vanity. Usually, I’d land on something like a broken rib or a very mild concussion. Ironically, at one point or another, I ended up with both of those injuries. I’m sure I still pushed it.  

Call it internalized capitalism, generalized anxiety disorder, or being from New Jersey—but all too often I feel like my worth is dependent on how much I can do, or accomplish, or produce. And sometimes, that’s great! I’m an ambitious person. I like setting meaningful goals and accomplishing them; but I also like baking 3 loaves of banana bread while singing 2000’s pop punk hits to an audience of unfolded laundry.  

The key is being able to tell you need a break before it’s too late. Ok—well it’s never really “too late”. I may have made that sound more high stakes for the shock factor but that didn’t feel right. You’re probably thinking, “you could just delete that sentence instead of typing two more sentences to explain yourself—and you’re right but then it wouldn’t be my blog now would it?

Anyway, most of the time I’m operating from a place of frantic, anxious productivity, or complete avoidance. I am either in a full-blown frenzy to accomplish every single thing on my check list, or I’ve completely removed myself from reality and am watching Ted Lasso in its entirety for the second time in 3 weeks. I push and push to accomplish everything, and by the time I recognize I need to break, I’m already in full blown avoidance, scrolling thru Instagram for the 11^th time in 24 hours, at which point my self-loathing sends me into one last ditch effort to accomplish just one more task. Then I end up overcooking the chicken I’m meal prepping, which of course leads to more self-hate for contributing to food waste. And the spiral continues.

If you’re looking for a way to measure your inadequacy, or proof that you’re not doing enough, you’ll find it. There’s always one more thing to do; one more book to read, podcast to listen to, diet to try. You’ll always find a motivational meme on Instagram that tells you “Successful people don’t take a rest day” or some bull shit. Which is fine I guess, but there’s also something to be said about recognizing that you need rest, and giving that to yourself. That’s a practice of true self-love, which leads to the most meaningful growth of all. And if you don’t believe me, ask Glennon Doyle. Plus, if I remember correctly from my Sunday School Days, even the Lord took a day to rest.

Obviously, I haven’t quite mastered this balance, but this is my invitation that we can start working on this together. You don’t need to get hit by a car or shatter a rib to rest. You may be thinking “Literally no one thought that”, but I’m inclined to believe most of you have a similar story yourself. If you can just do one more thing, then you can rest.

Engaging in self-care regularly is not only as important as everything else on your check list, but it makes you that much more effective when you return to the check list recharged.

Also, I’m here to remind you—you can rest because you’re tired. That’s all the reason you need.

Walk safely out there, people.