Recently, I encountered a very rare situation: It was noon on a Friday, and I was faced with an hour of unexpected free time.
On a typical Friday at that hour, I’d have eight-month-old Evelynn on my hip with my left arm, while using my right arm to send cars down the faded red slide of our play set with two-year-old Emiliano, waiting until 1 p.m. to drive them to pick up five-year-old Ella from school. But that particular day, both little ones had taken an early nap. Thus, this unusual, unscheduled hour for myself. For a brief moment, I panicked.
Should I get a head start on chores to have time later with the kids? Or perhaps squeeze in a workout? Try to nap as well? Or, wait — should I finally begin reading Strangers?
After a moment of overthinking, I took a deep breath and paused to survey the facts:
1) I had one hour before getting the babies up and ready to leave.
2) I did not want to engage with a screen.
4) I wished to be outside, ideally moving.
3) Whatever I chose had to be easily interruptible, should Evelynn or Emiliano wake early.
This eliminated a quick yard workout. Over time, I’ve learned being interrupted mid-squat irritates me. Trying a new baking recipe was equally unappealing. (At this stage, nothing feels more daunting than a sink full of dirty dishes.) So instead, I drifted into the backyard and took up a pair of garden shears…
Then for the next 30 minutes, I slipped into a calming trance, trimming white roses from the bush and placing the stems into a vase. By the time I heard Evelynn’s soft cry through the baby monitor, I’d created a whole fluffy arrangement of blossoms. Throughout the rest of that afternoon, as I engaged in make-believe and refilled water bottles, I’d glance at the vase on the table. Each glimpse of those cloud-like roses felt like exhaling deeply.
Now whenever I find small moments of solitude, I head out into the garden to search for blooming flowers. Sometimes it’s just a quick look around the shed, where I’ll pick a few of the wild poppies lingering in the gravel. Other times, I have enough time to climb the step stool and snip some soft, purple sprigs from our jacaranda tree. But each time I opt to spend moments alone — handling leaves, measuring stem lengths, and experimenting with color pairings — I finish feeling lighter, rejuvenated, and grounded.
So I’m eager to know, how do you prefer to spend your solitary time? Do you have long periods to fill with significant projects? Or perhaps you have mini-moments, and (like me) prefer activities you can start and stop at a whim? I’d love to find out.
P.S. An exciting book to dive into during your next downtime and eight readers share their pastimes.
