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 an hour of free time.
On Fridays, I’m with my kids (my work week is Monday through Thursday). So, I’d usually be balancing 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?
Then 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.) Instead, I wandered into our backyard and picked up a pair of garden shears.
For the 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 lush arrangement of blooms. Throughout the afternoon, as I played make-believe and refilled water bottles, I’d glance over at the vase on the table. Seeing those cloud-like roses felt like a deep breath.
Now whenever I stumble upon moments of alone time, I head into the garden and hunt for blooming flowers. Sometimes it’s just a peek around the shed, where I’ll pick a few wild poppies growing in the gravel. Other days, I have time to step up on the stool to snip purple branches from our jacaranda tree. But anytime I choose to spend a few minutes by myself — touching leaves, measuring stem lengths, and playing with color combos — I end up feeling invigorated and grounded.
So, I’m curious to hear, how do you like to spend your alone time? Do you have stretches to fill with on-going projects? Or micro-moments, where (like me) you choose activities you can pick up and drop at a moment’s notice? I’d love to know.
P.S. A funny memoir you can easily dip in and out of, and eight readers share their hobbies.
