Tag Archives: mental energy

Doing Nothing On Demand

One of my 5 Rules for Trusting your Instinct is
      Do Nothing – when Nothing Works¹

Rule-5-Do-nothing-when-nothing-works

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

So why did I get so angry when traveling companions told me that they were committed to making sure I did not work while I was on vacation?

Because:

1.  If what I am doing is working for me, I do not need to, nor do I want to stop doing it.
2.  Deciding, of my own volition, when I will Do Nothing is essential for my acting according to my Free Will.
3.  What I do – my work – is my joy. To not be able to do it would be agony.
4.  Unless I am mentally incompetent, self-managing my mental energy is essential for me to be a productive human being.
5.  It is not a hardship for me to do what I do, and Doing Nothing is not something I would ever consider to be a reward.
6.  Doing Nothing ought never to be demanded by or enforced by others. It would be an attempt to assert their Will or control over my freedom to be myself.
7.  My work is my purpose. Rob me of it and you have taken my life.
8.  For me to be put in a place where I could only Do Nothing for an extended period of time would be putting me in Purgatory.
9.  Without striving to Do what I do, it would be impossible for me to thrive.
10.  I cannot plan ahead to Do Nothing, or prevent the need to Do Nothing. I have to Do Nothing On Demand – but not the demand of others.
11.  The appropriate demand to Do Nothing comes when my instincts require that I take a break – not when others think it is a good time for me to stop working (sorry Mom, well-meaning friends, and government/corporate regulators).

My instincts have sometimes had to scream pretty loudly for me to stop working (accidents are no accident). My instincts always have and always will have the final say.

1. Kathy Kolbe, Powered by Instinct (Momentus Press, 2004)

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Conation has It’s Place

Where does conation live?

Conation is within you. It’s not just some knee jerk reaction. Or effort that requires elbow grease. Or thing that’s isolated in your guts. It oozes out of you and bursts forth from every pore. It’s probably in your head. Your brain, specifically. That’s where scientists logically place it, because how else could it inhabit every single thing that you do?

Where do you see it?

I see it in everything I do. It’s like my shadow, yet it precedes me, and roots me as well as trails me.

I especially see it where I live.

  • It’s in the energy of the colors I put on the walls (the more intensity the more it sparks my creativity).
  • It’s in where I put things (neatly, when I’m under stress; all over the place when I’m in my groove).
  • It’s in the number of projects I have out or stuffed in closets (if you can’t seen ’em, I’m in-between ’em).
  • It’s in how healthy my plants look (their wellness shows I’m getting down time)).
  • It’s in the degree of formality with which I set the table (the more of that the less of me).
  • It’s in the compromises I make with my husband (I can’t reach where he put the spices).
  • It’s in the whimsy all around me (don’t expect me to explain).

 

So how do you move you from a place that is/was you? How do you leave a home that you created, that you made perfect for your conative needs, that brought you and your spouse joy? How do you leave it without leaving a part of you behind? How do you move on?

The house I’m putting behind me is the one that helped us create a nurturing environment for a blended family. It’s the nest into which I brought my newborn grandchildren. Its bedrooms housed their hundreds of sleepovers and many session of Camp Kolbe. Its  Conasium(tm), which I was compelled to build, has a 3/4 size stage, art corner,  technology oozing out of the walls, and natural light from all directions, including overhead.  It has the pond I personally lined with cement and the swiming  pool with the linear waterfall I made so  kids could swim thru it- and they called their ‘carwash’; and a wood burning oven for  individually designed over-the-top pizza creations, and the tree house my son-in-law built around the palm tree because it needed to be left it free to sway.

When I see potential buyers look at all the gardens I created and say “Looks like too much work,” and just look, not skip around the soft surface “race track” in the grandkids play ground, I realize they just don’t get it. It’s not built to their MO. It doesn’t fit how they act, react and interact in their lives.

How can I get past the past of this place I created? This place that housed my conative spirit for 18 years?

It didn’t help to think so carefully about what to do with each and everything little thing and hope family and friends would want to take this and that. It didn’t matter that I  love where I now live, and haven’t had a moment of regret or sadness about the decision to move on. 

It took getting conative — taking action — about leaving that  house before I actually moved my conative self completely out it.

Yesterday I found myself with a paint brush in hand, personally painting over the colors I had so carefully chosen. I personally took down the large magnetized white board where grandkids had posted the names of their plays and roles they played (and sometimes used the wrong kind of markers, making it messy to others’ minds). I personally chose the shade of off-white for the carpeting and walls in all the bedrooms. I personally packed up the last of the whimsy.

Now the bones of the wonderfully designed house show through. It’s ready to house someone else’s conative creativity. Mine has moved on.

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