I know this has been said by every generation, but geez, why is life so busy? And why do we feel so guilty when we take time for ourselves?

Today I have at least three (potentially) uninterrupted hours in which to write. And I already feel guilty about it–there is ALWAYS stuff I could be doing instead of writing, which is difficult, and doesn’t make my house any cleaner. The same feeling springs up, only worse, when I sit down to read–I don’t watch much TV, reading is my entertainment, and yet, whenever I read, unless I am also doing something else (at the gym, doing laundry, sitting with the son while he does homework), my mind buzzes with other things I could be doing.

When he was younger, my son liked to read a book called Take Time To Relax by Nancy Carlson which detailed the lives of the busy Beavers. They had aerobics, and cake-decorating class, and computer class, and working late, and all sorts of stuff that kept them on the go. When a big snowstorm hits, they’re stuck inside, so they pop popcorn and sing songs. When the roads are clear, and they could jump back into their busy lives, they decide to take more time for themselves.

I wish I was a beaver and had a big snowstorm trap me inside so I couldn’t do all the stuff that buzzes in my head. But since I am not (although, as previously noted, I have one enormous wood-chewing tooth), I have to force myself to relax. Which means turning off my brain and allowing myself to fall into the moment. So today I am going to do nothing but write and drink tea, at least for a few hours. Because I am busy, and must also schedule time for myself.

How do you take time for yourself? What are your favorite indulgences?