I’m lost in the disorientation of summer time. The sun had been high and bright all day until I slipped under my covers to take a nap, and then the sun, too, slipped under its covers and out came a disorienting afternoon thunderstorm. The sun and I are both up and at ‘em once more, but time seems off-kilter. I move, often motivated by a checklist and a strong sense of duty, but in my shapeless afternoon the checklist seems insignificant. The hours slip by unnoticed, a book in my hand, sounds of music and typing coming from my husband’s office down the hall. My daughter, with her allowed once hour of television per day, has somehow expanded the hour and I can’t muster up concern. She’s two flights below me, engrossed in Star Trek Voyager and I don’t mind. Ah, lazy summer days. My body and brain are receiving a rest that was unasked for but embraced nonetheless.

The rest of today follows the pattern I’ve been feeling in the past several months, and I’ve described it as a lull in life, a “selah” from the Psalms if you will. I’m not sure that the word selah is completely understood, but some think it means to pause or to take a break. Like a little breath, if it’s truly a musical notation. I feel like I’m in a stage of life that is a little uptake of breath, a bit of calm, a period of pausing.

What happens when a duty-bound, responsible, checklist-making woman takes a breath?

I don’t know exactly, but here I am.

Will the world fall apart?
Will I miss out on opportunities?
Will I forget something or, and this is far worse, will someone forget me?
Will I be seen as lazy?
Will I forget to be goal-oriented?
Will I be more content?

Yes. I can answer that last one already. This selah is surrounded by space that breathes of contentedness. I have strived for decades to reach particular goals, and I’ve largely been good at it. So what happens if I’m not immediately in pursuit of something? Can I truly sit here and read a book and then get takeout for dinner and the world will keep spinning on its axis?

Yes to that question, too.

I don’t know how long this break will be, this space of breathing in and out and not always achieving. I don’t know its length but I do know it’s content. Right now it’s making dinner without feeling the pressure of an activity coming right after it. It’s hanging out with my animal-loving kid, carting her from pet-sitting to the zoo and back again. It’s talking with her, and talking with my husband, and watching tv shows together, again without any pressure of significant deadlines. It’s reading a book, finishing it, and picking up another one. It’s reading out loud. It’s listening to podcasts. It’s conversations with friends or family over an iced coffee or a last-minute run to Marshalls.

So for now I march to a different drumbeat that doesn’t feel like a beat at all. Bring on the summer sun, and let the days come.