A Good Word

Here is a word that someone spoke aloud to me yesterday: repose. What a beautiful and evocative word—one whose sound immediately conveys a sense of it that can actually be felt. This morning I looked up the definitions for it in The American Heritage College Dictionary, something I always do with words that strike me (I get a little sad at the thought of all the people—especially younger ones—who do not know the pleasure and value of looking up a word and savoring all its meanings and nuances). The definitions listed for both the noun and verb forms of the word are as follows:

1. The act of resting or the state of being at rest.
2. Freedom from worry; peace of mind.
3. Calmness; tranquility
4. to lay oneself down
5. to rest or relax oneself
6. to lie at rest
7. to place trust in (stemming from the Latin root “repos,” meaning “to put away”)

Hearing this word and reading its definitions are like a little clarion bell going off in my mind and heart, because “repose” is what I am so often longing for and what I so often struggle (and fail) to achieve. At the risk of alienating readers who work traditional jobs, I am on my summer break from teaching right now, and, as I find it to be every summer, I am engaged in a kind of battle. It is a wonderful and extraordinary blessing to have eight weeks of not having to work (and it is eight weeks, not twelve as so many people mistakenly believe—I work until late June and start my preparation for the coming year in late August). Not many adults have two full months of free time, so I truly do appreciate what a fantastic luxury that is.

There is a difficult aspect of it, however, at least for me. I like structure and I like routine, and when I’m not working, structure and routine are out the window, and the endless possibilities of what I can do with all this free time become somewhat overwhelming. I have so much time, I think to myself, that I should be able to do EVERYTHING. I should be able to clean and organize my entire house and garage, I should be able to e-mail everyone back immediately, I should be able to get together with every friend I have, I should be able to travel, I should be able to write every day, I should be able to read lots of books, I should be able to play the piano regularly again, I should be able to stay on top of the weeds in the garden, I should be able to have all the minor repairs on the house done that I’ve ignored all year, I should be able to go to museums and concerts, I should be able to exercise every day, I should be able to cook healthy meals for myself, I should be able to watch all the movies in my Netflix queue, and so on and so forth.

Last Friday, I sat in my living room and read a novel for nearly three hours. When I had finished the last page and closed the book, I slowly became aware of the dimming light outside and, after a moment of dazed disorientation, sprang out of the armchair I was sitting in. I looked at the clock, and my heart fluttered with a kind of panic. It was nearly 7:00! And all I had done that day was return a shirt to Old Navy, meet a friend for lunch, buy groceries at Trader Joe’s and read! That’s it! What about cleaning the bathroom? Putting away my laundry? E-mailing my friends back? Prepping for my trip to Boston? The list I had made that morning had less than half its items crossed off. I paced up and down the hallway and around my dining room for a few anxious minutes, trying to decide which task I could squeeze in before eating dinner, and all my enjoyment in reading evaporated. I could relax and enjoy myself only as long as I wasn’t aware of it, as long as I was completely caught up in whatever I was reading or watching on TV. But those experiences really weren’t that enjoyable or relaxing because the moment I became “aware” again, I was filled with guilt and anxiety.

Which is why I’m so attracted to the word and idea of “repose.” Repose implies rest with awareness. Repose implies pleasure in and appreciation of that rest. Repose implies mindfulness and intentionality with a freedom from "shoulds." Repose implies a deliberate putting away of tasks and their accompanying guilt and anxiety, which is very different from mere escape. Escaping is not rest or tranquility—escape is fleeing. I have been escaping instead of reposing whenever I’ve been engaged in “relaxing” activities. The result is that the wolves are still always at my door, circling and snarling and ready to bite me the minute I poke my head outside. Repose, on the other hand, flings the door wide, commands the snapping wolves firmly, “Be still!”, walks out to the grassy hillside, and lays down in the sunshine, basking in the warmth with a heart full of gladness.