Ian Burbidge

Doesn’t the arc of nature’s day have a special, cyclical rhythm? On to which we impose our more linear human take on the day. I’ve woken up wondering what might be different if we align these rhythms… We tend to see our mornings as an exercise in getting from being cosily asleep to awake and energised – ‘on it!’ – as quickly as possible. For many the goal is to maximise the former (snooze! snooze!) and minimise the period in between sleep and starting work – or whatever activity you have planned for the day. Make the most of the day! Be product, be efficient! 

I sure recall when I would move slickly from bed through shower to breakfast (had to fit that one in. Still do.) into the car and be at work in what I considered to be an efficient time-span. I see others, embracing the hybrid work-from-home world, roll out of bed and on to a call, coffee in hand and – at least to a certain extent I think this must be true – proud of such an ability. Living my best life!

We spend our time at work pursuing the perfection of productivity; out of work too, as we tend to our families and life’s demands, perhaps even to our own needs – of course, we should put ourselves in the picture too, but we tend sacrifice personal care on the alter of Getting Everything Done. I’ll worry about me tomorrow. 

And so we must go-go-go! Burn up our energy, pack it all in, our full-on days, before collapsing into bed at its end, never quite leaving long enough there to fully recharge. Preparing to do it all again tomorrow nonetheless. It’s easy to see tiredness as weakness. Tiredness is for losers! Come on! Keep up! I’m not done yet! To see time spent not doing anything – doom-scroll that phone, swipe meaninglessly between apps, not really seeing anything, no point to it, just a distraction from the void – no, the pain – of sitting with ourselves for a few moments – as a waste. Down-time = unproductive, a waste, a missed opportunity. And yet…

When you slow up and take a moment. 

And simply b r e a t h e … 

in… two … three … four …

and hold… two … three … four …

and let go… two … three … four …

And pause.

And repeat.

Intentionally create the space for the unknown. 

Who knows what might show up? If only we give it the time and space to do so. 

What small glimmer of awareness might be tapping gently at the edges of our reality? (I don’t want to look THERE! There might be dragons…) What might it have to offer you in this time? What might you be needing? Missing? Worrying about? Seeking? What if, in stillness, answers or insights might emerge? And yet…

On and on and on we dash. Accelerating our days from zero to full-on, maintain-maintain-maintain, do-do-do – and then – screech to a stop. Repeat. Endlessly. It’s perhaps this alignment of everything you do with the work you do and the society you’re in that pushed me to change. The idea of Groundhog Day repels me. The idea that my day orbits around the work I do, while focusing on maximum productivity, ticking things off lists Done! Done! Keeping everything together, everybody happy (enough). Is this what it comes down to? A higher degree in plate spinning?

To break routines can be daunting, challenging. So often it’s the external shocks that knock us out of our familiar orbit (I see you, divorce; I see you, Covid-19) that do the best job of this. As though life gets bored of waiting for us to change, so the universe unfolds to throw us a curve-ball (yeh, thanks for that!). It’s the opportunity that arises with the resulting void to be filled that can be exciting. How do I reconfigure things, do things differently (Do I even want to?) in this new space? 

Several years ago as I sat under a large beech tree on a Tuscan hillside I connected with the flow and cycles of space and time (that sounds kinda profound now I write it out loud). The day started (no, it didn’t start, it – sort of – emerged) s l o w l y. Imperceptibly at first, those first indistinct glows teasing the horizon, playing tricks with my eyes. Was it… (tell me Night’s finally coming to an end – it’s been ages!)… 

You could sense the part of the planet I was on responding, mirroring the creeping light with its creeping awakeness; I sensed and heard and felt it. The breeze, coming from nowhere, started to massage the trees awake; the growing warmth seemed to offer the plants the lubrication for action, as they all creaked and stretched in response. The early birds took to flight and small creatures started scurrying around between the stalks of unknown undergrowth. Connecting with such a small part of the planet I could feel it come alive, like an orchestra that starts off with a couple of violinists tuning up and before you know it (before I realised it, on the first day), is playing a full-on symphony. A symphony that crescendo’d around noon and that wound down its play – a d a g i o – in time with the setting sun. 

Two speeds it was not. Full-on and full-off, a machine-like switch of state, it was not. Slow transitions it was. And I’m contemplating (case in point, at 630 in the morning, sitting in my comfy chair with my freshly brewed coffee steaming gently to my right), why do we try and impose the former when nature – the very same nature we are a part of, lets remember – does the exact opposite? A joy of camping (yes I remember those days, even as I’ve convinced myself my older bones need more comfort) is that alignment with the natural rhythms of the world; sleep when it’s dark, wake when it’s getting light. Slow transitions into the day (no way you can do fast coffee and food on a camping stove) and out of it (food, perhaps a book until the dark envelops the tent, and – what else are you going to do – but crawl into your sleeping bag and r e l a x…). 

I sat on my piece of Tuscan hillside for three days^⁠1 (yes, I ended up talking to and holding the Beech tree; it’s surprising the wisdom to be found in nature). Absorbed the cyclical nature of life with its rhythmic ebbs and flows; I dispensed with that traditional linear view of progress though life we imbibe as we grow up (it seemed so unnatural to the tree). And so I played with the notion that we might adopt these practices in our human days; slower, longer starts and mindful relaxes into the ends that merge into sleep. Mirroring routines. 

In practice, and accelerated by Covid-19, my mornings now contain a range of slower, more mindful practices (here I am modelling one of them). Out of bed and straight to work or on a run I do not do (barring emergencies). Permission to emerge into the day. Much earlier than before (s l o w takes time, right?). Variously: reading, mindful coffee, writing, breathwork, perhaps some meditation, light stretching (not all of the above – that would be back to a checklist and the pursuit of productivity. Rather, a Menu of options to engage with in the moment). Slowly building the intensity and pace. And, more of a personal challenge, developing a mirroring end-of-day routine (oh but I do love the late evenings – activate night owl identity – let me do my creative work then, then when I’m at my best, when so many others are asleep!). 

Perhaps it’s age, perhaps it’s the Covid years where my routine shifted, perhaps it was my wilderness retreat, or (most likely) a blend of all three. But seeing the day as a set of rituals and practices to be indulged in at different speeds, different paces, is a very real experiment over recent times that seems to offer me benefits. Perhaps my own connection with myself is the primary one… perhaps connection with nature isn’t far behind. Off the socially-imposed conveyor belt of ever-faster action, running quicker and quicker headlong to heaven-knows where or who knows what. On to the turning cycles of life, in all their unknown glory and connected rhythms. Evolving, as surely life should (hang on tight, at first, as those circles turn, then s l o w l y relax your grip, Ian – embrace the glorious uncertainty – let go – live in the ideal rhythm of the moment). 

It’s not – for me – a competitive, individualised, inexorable race towards a fixed destination (Be the best! The fastest! Climb the ladder! Get there first! Be a winner!). Embracing my inner wanderer, nomad it’s a journey to be treasured, embraced, explored. And so many of the insights along the way have come through stillness, a stillness that lets in alternate possibilities and enables them to work their magic on my life. That – for me – is the excitement of the unknown. Make more space for it. Let the magic in. 

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¹ I sat there not as a punishment, you understand, but on a wilderness retreat – some spiritual traditions call it a vision quest.