The other day I found myself in a highly unusual predicament: It was 12 p.m. on a Friday, and I was staring down the barrel of one hour of unexpected free time.
On an ordinary Friday, at that time, I’d be holding eight-month-old Evelynn on my hip with my left arm, while using my right arm to race cars down the faded red slide of our play set with two-year-old Emiliano, waiting until 1 p.m. to load them into the car to go pick up five-year-old Ella from school. But on that specific day, both babies had taken an early nap. Hence, this rare, unscheduled hour of time to myself. For a second, I freaked out.
Should I get ahead of my chores, so I have free time later to hang with the kids? Or maybe try to squeeze in a workout? Should I try to nap, too? Or, wait — should I finally start reading Strangers?
After a moment of spiraling, I took a deep breath and paused to assess the facts:
1) I had one hour before I had to get the babies up and ready to leave.
2) I did not want to do anything with a screen.
4) I did want to be outside, preferably moving.
3) Whatever I did had to be easily interruptible, in case Evelynn or Emiliano woke up early.
This ruled out a quick workout in the yard. Over the years, I’ve learned that being interrupted mid-squat makes me cranky. Trying a new baking recipe was also not in the cards. (At this stage of life, nothing feels more daunting than a sink full of dirty dishes.) So instead, I wandered into the backyard and picked up a pair of garden shears…
Then for next 30 minutes, I fell into a soothing trance, snipping white roses off the bush and gliding the stems into a vase. By the time I heard Evelynn’s soft cry through the baby monitor, I had a whole fluffy arrangement of blooms. Throughout the rest of that afternoon, as I played make-believe and refilled water bottles, I’d glance over at the vase on the table. Each glimpse of those cloud-like roses felt like taking a deep breath.
Now whenever I stumble upon small moments of alone time, I head out into the garden and hunt for blooming flowers. Sometimes it’s just a quick look around the shed, where I’ll pick a few of the wild poppies hanging out in the gravel. Other days, I have enough time to climb up the step stool, and snip some soft, purple branches from our jacaranda tree. But every time I choose to spend a few minutes alone — touching leaves, measuring stem lengths, and playing with color combos — I end up feeling lighter, invigorated, and grounded.
So I’m curious to hear, how do you like to spend your alone time? Do you have long stretches to fill with big projects? Or perhaps you have micro-moments, and (like me) choose activities you can pick up and drop at a moment’s notice? I’d love to know.
P.S. A thrilling book to read during your next downtime and eight readers share their hobbies.
