After a severe burnout, having been in recovery from three years, I've learned to relax again.
I mean, I've learnt to force myself to take a beat.
Saturday mornings are not for work, for example. First thing Saturday, I sit myself down in a chair with a cup of coffee, house quiet, I look out the window.
After some restless minutes comes the feeling. A childlike feeling. I remember staring out the window dark autumn evenings, raindrops slowly running down the glass, meeting each other, joining up, becoming larger together and running faster down the glass, dragging yet more drops into their bosom.
This was a childhood in the 1980s: Sundays with nothing to do. A beam of sun standing still like a pole through the window, specks of dust playing in its path.
I doubt my children will associate resting with childhood.