The break that never was

Up from whatever you were doing. Out to the usual spot. One eye on the time. Back in fourteen minutes, a little rushed and no more rested. Everybody called that a break. It was a pit stop. In and out, back on the track, carrying the same tension you left with. Rest was never part of the deal.

The cigarette stole your break and let you keep the name. Those minutes went to feeding a craving and getting back in time. Now they arrive empty, with nothing to feed and nowhere to rush back from. The whole quarter hour belongs to you.

Fifteen open minutes is a lot of room. It holds a walk that goes somewhere. A call that isn't squeezed between two things. Your shoulders dropping down from your ears. Expect a pull toward your phone at first. A mind trained to fill every gap will reach for the next task. Rest is a skill, and it comes back with practice.

Take the next one for real. Leave the phone behind and let your feet pick the direction. Halfway through, say hello to God. I've got time for You today. He's never once rushed you. Come back rested instead of just returned. Nobody's timing you anymore.