The Inertia of Waiting: Rest as a Sacred Act in Unsettled Times
In this time on the planet, there’s a kind of aching tension many feel but rarely name. It’s the discomfort of waiting—not just for something specific, but for a moment when things might feel settled, less uncertain. It’s the weight of collective exhaustion, of trying to live purposefully while feeling pulled under by the seemingly endless stops and starts. It’s not laziness that slows us; it’s the weariness of souls caught in a tide that doesn’t recede.
To move or to wait? To rest or to press forward? Many of us wrestle with these questions in a way that feels not just personal but profoundly universal. And perhaps it’s time to consider that inertia—the resistance to movement—may hold its own wisdom. Inertia, after all, isn’t a standstill; it’s the presence of forces in tension, a waiting not just to act, but to allow rest itself to become a purposeful act of preparation.
Rest as a Counterpoint to Inertia
To be still when the world is loud, to pause when everything demands movement, is an act of defiance—and, more importantly, of reverence. Yet, the exhaustion we feel now doesn’t come from a lack of will or laziness. It’s the price of holding ourselves together through seasons of upheaval, grief, change, and disruption. In physics, inertia holds us in place until we find a force powerful enough to move us. What if, right now, the force we need is not action, but surrender to the rest we have earned?
In the words of those who came before us, there is wisdom in honouring the “pause,” in choosing stillness as an act of restoration. It’s a time to gather ourselves for what may come next, and for the clarity that emerges when we stop striving to simply do and allow ourselves to be.
Self-Reflection for Unsettled Times
If you, too, feel the tension of inertia, of not knowing how or when to move forward, consider these questions as a guide for self-inquiry. They aren’t meant to press you into action, but rather to help you honour where you are and offer yourself the kindness of rest:
What am I waiting for? Is it permission, a sign, or a sense that things will finally settle? What would it mean to trust myself to move when I’m ready, not just when the world around me is?
What part of me resists rest? Where have I believed that my worth is in what I produce or achieve rather than in the simple act of being?
How does inertia serve me? Is there wisdom in the resistance I feel to movement? What might I need to gain or release before I’m ready to act again?
How can I care for myself in this season? What practices, rituals, or moments of stillness allow me to replenish rather than push forward?
Who will I be on the other side of rest? What qualities of depth, resilience, and creativity might emerge once I’ve allowed myself the space to pause and gather strength?
A Hint of What’s to Come
Perhaps you, like many, are hesitant to plan for what comes next, wondering if the effort will fall on deaf ears, if it will be one more start destined to stall. I understand this fear—it’s one we share. But I offer you this: there is a stirring, a quiet plan taking shape, a way of being and creating that honours the cycles of waiting, resting, and rising.
In the meantime, I invite you to join me in this space, to let go of the impulse to rush, and to rest with a purpose. In time, we will rise—not to escape what has held us but to move forward because of it, with it, strengthened by it.
Rest as Reverence
This is not the season of speed nor of frantic doing. It’s a time to cultivate reverence for rest, to trust that inertia is not absence but a kind of sacred presence. In this unsettled time, rest isn’t just a reprieve—it’s a right. So take it, let it be yours, and trust that rest itself is a preparation for the becoming that awaits.
Warmest of regards,
LA
