nobby\NAH-bee\
adjective: cleverly stylish : chic, smart

It’s been a month since I moved out of New York. Wait, scratch that. Five weeks. Well, five and a half. Aside from losing my grip on the passage of time, I think I’ve been managing quite well. Setting an alarm is a rare necessity, naps are frequent, I assume the role of kitchen assistant almost everyday and, when I get the chance, promote myself to CEO when the time is right (aka when my Mom has a long day). I made it to a yoga class on Wednesday, run mid-afternoon errands and meet friends for lunch or happy hour. Every week I apply to at least two or three jobs and make verbal commitments to set aside time for writing. It’s bliss. But… I obviously miss working. And while I would never ever want to complain about my “situation,” otherwise known as voluntary unemployment, it has been more challenging than I thought to have little or nothing to do. I spend more energy stewing endlessly over the fact that I haven’t written a single creative sentence than actually capitalizing on my ample freedom. (And no, the sentences in this blog don’t count.)

But I shouldn’t worry about squeezing every little last drop of opportunity out of my unscheduled hours, should I? In almost 45 days you’d think that my city self would have churned out a nobby novella, redecorated my bedroom and finished my Christmas shopping in that amount of time. For whatever reason, detached in Delaware, I find myself floating… somewhere in between frantic production and absolute couch potato. Frantic potato.

Why is sitting still so hard? Or, better yet, why is the amount of stuff I “produce” the only way for me to gauge whether or not my day has been successful or pathetic? I know that this is a time of transition and that I should give myself one single task: to value these days. I should learn to enjoy stillness, feel comfortable with free time. See end results in rejuvenation. It’s productivity on a whole new level. Because once I do find a job and get back on the full-time track, it’ll be like opening a can of Pringles. Once you pop, you just can’t stop.