I like to sit on my windowsill, five stories up, with the window screen pushed open and my legs dangling out. I like to stare at the bikers riding by, the wasp lodging itself in between the bricks of my building. My favorite sight is the single brown backed bird on top of the big tree outside, chirping to no one in particular. We perch together, observing. These seven minutes of a mandarin orange or a cup of coffee are my heaven.

In an interview for Juxtapoz, an arts and culture magazine, Danielle Mckinney talks about her seven minutes. For her it’s while she smokes a cigarette. After she’s finished a painting, or completed some task, she pauses. She takes herself away to a quiet spot and smokes. It’s a time of rest and reprieve, time for her to come back to herself.

There are many artists, writers and painters alike, who find value in rest. Mckinney often portrays women that resemble herself in periods of what seems like isolation or loneliness. These paintings reflect her in her entirety, rarely doing much outside of reading a book or smoking a cigarette. Simply a picture of a human being and her natural state. Truly, these are moments of rest.

Unemployed and uncommitted, I find myself having a surplus of rest these days. These days, I find myself meandering for miles through the city and its parks, sitting against various trunks of trees, watching others rushing to work, rushing through conversations, rushing to the next thing. At Trader Joe’s, I watch my cashier pack my grocery bag with optimal speed. Before I can even finish my payment, my bag is ready, all my things organized Tetris styled in the double paper bag.

Unlike the cashier, I’ve been slowing down, contemplating (as my latest blog posts have been tirelessly reflecting), and I feel revived.

I’m living through my isolation and loneliness, and it is fruitful. For the first time in many years, after years of schooling, hard work, numerous events and productions that display my endless practice and preparation for showcasing my value and skill, I am preparing for absolutely nothing except the rest of my life. No more performances, just the great expanse of time and possibility. To most, and surely to me, a daunting endeavor.

But how can we rest when there are bills to pay, when we need health insurance and security? For a month I’ve been relying solely on savings and my parents’ health insurance, but surely there will come a time when I want to rest but can’t because there is too much at stake.

Growing up, my family was diligent and determined. My parents and my brother worked and worked and worked. Now they find themselves unable to sit still. If not for my body and my mental health begging me to slow down constantly, I, too, would probably face this conundrum. The only reason I can rest is because I’ve supposedly chosen the easy route (or the lazy route as some might see it). I’m supported through my rest.

One month of a million job applications followed by a million rejections, and I have found the time to be profoundly educating. This much needed rest has allowed me to connect, to talk to others I normally would ignore in my brain fogged state. It has allowed me to protest the route that has been mapped for me and discover something new. I finally have the time to chat with the birds and patiently see where the wasp will go. Will it sting me? Will it climb into my home and build a nest that takes over? Perhaps. But I would have never known if I rushed to close my window, to run to a different place.

I urge you to rest. It doesn’t have to be a month, it doesn’t even have to be a week. It could be just seven minutes. I urge you to sit in nothingness, to feel purposeless and invaluable. You should feel lost and hopeless as you rage and scramble for some answer or some path. Only then might you actually find where you should go.