I’d been planning to make a new computer wallpaper to share here with a new photo — one of the ones I’ve taken here in New York in the last two months. But I’ve simply given up. This photo, from my last Seattle visit in December, seemed perfect for the quote.

Until I get around to taking some New York photos that I like a lot, please enjoy this new wallpaper, which you can download in its full size here.

You know, I really do believe in kindness.

I shall rephrase: doing nothing is, possibly, the best thing I’ve ever done for myself.

As promised, I spent that whole weekend, from 12:30 pm on Saturday to Sunday night, in service of absolutely nothing and no one, with no obligations to go anywhere.

There’s no way for me to communicate to you how delicious that time was.

I spent a full day reading (a children’s book, no less!). I didn’t need to open my computer. There were no obligations tugging at my mind, making me sure I shouldn’t be doing what I was doing and should, instead, be doing something else.

There was nothing to accomplish. If I laid on the couch and looked out the window all weekend, that would be success. If I alternated between sleeping, eating, and sitting, that would be success. If I watched the entirety of Downton Abbey (which, by the way, I did), that would be success.

I succeeded marvelously at nothing. (There is a sparkling invisible trophy on my bedside table to recognize my monumental non-accomplishment.)

I’m guessing you might be thinking, “Okay, Kylie. That’s really great that you were able to do nothing. But it isn’t possible for me. I have too much to do.”

In response, I’m going to be really coach-ey and ask: Are you completely and totally sure that’s true? Is there a way you could disprove it?

And now, because maybe you didn’t know how to answer those questions, I’ll share with you how I did what I thought was impossible, and had a whole day and a half of nothing.

How to Do Nothing (or, rather, How I Did Nothing):

• Pick a period of time for the nothing-doing, and stick to it. It doesn’t matter how long or short this time period is. It just matters that you define it and stick to it as best you can.
• Tie up your affairs in the World of Doing before you enter the World of Non-Doing. This is key, as it allows some of the guilt and worry you might have about doing nothing to take a vacation, as well. Some ways I did this: I finished all my time-sensitive client work and emails before beginning. I announced on my blog and Twitter that I’d be away. I called my mama and my best friend so they wouldn’t think I’d perished.
• Put it in the calendar. There’s a big, fat nothing in my calendar for that weekend. It’s beautiful. And it helped me to feel even more committed to (you guessed it) nothing.
• Call in support. I talked to Mary about this extensively before committing fully to the non-doing time. I made it really, really clear that I was going to be completely out of commission for the weekend. I’d be unavailable for social engagements. I wouldn’t be grocery shopping or having emotional conversations. She graciously picked up my slack, but if she hadn’t, I would have done what I needed to do either before or after the nothing happened.
• Be intentional about it. I wanted to make this time as special and self-nurturing as I could. So I checked out books from the library (fiction books, which I almost never read). I lovingly arranged the pillows on the couch for myself. I slowly, mindfully made myself each cup of tea I drank. This allowed me to separate the time from, say, toodling around the internet when I really should be sleeping, which I don’t find to be particularly restful or rejuvenating.
• Give yourself buckets of permission. Even though I knew I needed this non-doing time, I still felt guilty about taking it. I felt guilty beforehand. I felt guilty during. I felt guilty after. Each time a wave of guilt would surface, I’d meet it with as much permission as I could muster. And then I’d continue with my plan to do nothing. There’s plenty of pressure in our culture to do. I’ve done plenty of doing in my day. I reminded myself, again and again, that I’m allowed to step away from doing for a moment.

So that’s how I did it. It was wonderful. I’m now incorporating more nothing into my life, because I’m convinced it’s the fountain of youth/joy/goodness. And in case it’s not already obvious, I highly recommend doing nothing to you.

Comments: Today I’m welcoming hoorays and sighs for the gloriousness that is non-doing. I’m welcoming your experiences with doing nothing, past and future. And I’m welcoming any questions you have, because nothing happens to be my new favorite topic to discuss.

*Super-cool photo courtesy of Mary.

“I just want to let you know that . . . I’ve been having a hard time.”

I flick my gaze back to his general area, briefly, but he’s looking down. I continue.

“I’m depressed, so if you notice that I’ve been working really slowly or seem like I’m out of it, that’s why. I just want you to know I really am trying.”

I glance at him again, and he’s looking back at me easily, like we’re talking about preparing for a meeting. He’s just the same as he was a moment ago. His eyebrows aren’t turned down in pity or bunched in confusion. His expression is perfectly normal.

My boss doesn’t think I’m an alien because I have depression and I’m telling him about it.

I remember to breathe.

. . .

I’ve been feeling depressed lately. I don’t really know why. It probably has something to do with the stress, but I can’t be sure. Usually when I’m feeling depressed, I try to avoid talking and writing about it too much. But Esme’s writing about her mental health stuff always buoys me, especially when I’m feeling down, so I figured I’d try being more open about it here. It seems logical to me that if her writing about bipolar disorder helps me feel less alone, maybe my writing about depression will help somebody else feel less alone. Right?

I realized yesterday, when I had the conversation above, that this is the third time I’ve come out to an employer about depression. It was no less scary the third time than it was the first. It was very quick, though, each time. Simple. Almost a non-issue, despite my inability to breathe properly until it was over.

For me, the first couple times, it was about necessity. At my first job out of college, I told my boss that I had a “weekly doctor’s appointment” when I needed to go to therapy. Naturally, she thought I was dying, so I quickly told her I was just depressed, not on my death bed (even if I did feel as if I was dying).

The second time, I was at a job where the pace of work was frenetic. People noticed when you took your lunch away from your desk, much less left to go to therapy or took a day off. I felt that I had to tell my boss why I had taken more than one last-minute day off recently. There didn’t seem to be any other way for me to explain why I was calling in sick when we were facing so many deadlines all the time.

This time, it wasn’t necessary. My boss doesn’t mind when I take days off, and the head of our department actually insists that we take all our vacation days each year. But my brain has been working at the pace of a snail lately, and I wanted my boss to know that I do care about my work, and that I’m still trying my best.

I’m so glad, now, that I had that sixty-second conversation yesterday. It was so tiny, so simple, so surface-level. It didn’t change anything, not really. But it let me know that I don’t always have to hide my difficulties from everyone, even my coworkers. I’m allowed to be human, even at work. Before that conversation, I didn’t think I’d be able to make it through the rest of the work day. But after it, I surprised myself by lasting until 6pm (which is the end of the day in my office), and actually getting things done before leaving.

And the last thing my boss said to me?

“If you need to take days off, that’s totally fine. You don’t need to think of an excuse or anything. Just take time off if you need it.”

Some things are much less of a big deal than I think they are. I only ever find that out, of course, once I stop mulling them over in my head and actually speak the words aloud to another human.

Which, really, should come as no surprise, because this is one of my fascinating (and also infuriating) patterns. I’ve talked about it before. (And now that I look back at those posts, it’s almost comical how similar it looks each time the pattern recurs.)

It seems that working a full-time job, doing photo shoots on the weekends, coaching three people per week in the mornings and evenings, writing a blog, having a family, having a partner, having friends, planning a wedding-ey sort of thing, writing guest posts, finishing coaching school, writing papers for coaching school graduation, and doing things like eating and sleeping and exercising is somewhat more than a highly sensitive prone-to-depression person named Kylie can do all at once.

My body’s been having a tantrum about the whole thing. I apparently have gastritis, and tummy and headaches have been frequent. My body decides it’s time to go to bed at approximately 2pm, and I’ve had to use up numerous sick days.

So I’m finally listening. Because, in all honesty, if I were coaching myself, there would have been an intervention already. In the past week, I’ve had conversations with clients about the majorly big importance of doing nothing every once in a while. All the while, when it comes to myself, I’ve been listening to all the people who are always talking about how if you want to have a business and a full-time job, you have to be willing to forgo sleep and a life. Which I don’t believe.

After allowing myself to get almost to the point where I can do absolutely no more, I’m taking a stand for what I believe in (and what I always teach my clients): It’s possible to do the things you love and to also care lovingly for yourself.

I do not always know how this is possible, which I think is quite clear, because I’ve lost sight of it myself.

But I refuse to sacrifice sleep for deadlines.

I refuse to put off exercise until after the next push.

I refuse to wait to give myself a break until I think I “deserve” it.

I refuse to over-schedule myself out of fear.

I refuse to neglect my homey nature.

Here’s what I’m doing: This weekend, starting at 1:30 pm on Saturday, I’m doing nothing. I have nothing scheduled, not even a massage or a yoga class. There is nowhere I need to be, and not even a coffee date in my calendar. If I really feel like it, I can do something. But that something won’t be laundry. That something won’t be grocery shopping. That something won’t be sweeping the floor. And that something won’t be email.

Instead, I have a book checked out of the library (for pleasure!). This book has nothing to do with personal development. Not in the least. I have a floor to roll around on. I have a kettle to brew tea. And I have a bed. To sleep in.

If you’re wondering where I am, that’s where. Hibernating like a Brooklyn-based bear, and watching Marcel the Shell on repeat (most likely). I’ll be back next week. In the meantime, I’m filling up on rest, and wishing you some, if you need it.

. . .

Comments: Have you ever been plum tuckered out? If so, how’d you recover? I’m very actively seeking activities and thoughts and books and recordings that are the most relaxing and comforting for you, so please do share if you feel inclined to do so.

As of now (er, a few days ago), I’m offering free, thirty-minute introductory coaching sessions. Yay!

What does this mean for you? Well, it means that if you’ve never tried coaching, you can give it a whirl, totally free. It’s also cool because you can gain a surprising amount of clarity and insight in a relatively short (in this case, thirty-minute) session. As a client, I’ve had lots of fifteen minute coaching sessions that were totally illuminating.

The intro. session is also a good chance for me to answer any questions you have about coaching. And if you’re thinking of continuing with coaching, we can use this session to determine whether we’re the right client/coach fit, ’cause that’s important.

Now. I realize you might be thinking that I don’t actually want to give you a free session. That maybe this will actually be a sales pitch. But that’s not the case. This is an opportunity for you to experience my coaching style, and for me to listen deeply to you and help guide you to some clarity. I’ll follow up by email after the session to give you the opportunity to continue with coaching and get some closure around what we discussed, and that’s it. It’ll be super-fun.

Interested? Email me (kylie.springman@gmail.com), and we’ll schedule a time to talk.

Comments/feedback: This is a new thing for me! And that means I’m especially open to questions and suggestions. If there are any remaining wonderments you have about intro. sessions, I’d love to answer them. If you just want to say yay, I’ll happily accept that, too.

*Gorgeous photo by Mary

Lucky for me, I barely ever have to shop. Grocery, clothing, or otherwise. I have a partner who happens to adore shopping, and be very good at it. She revels in a trip to the farmer’s market, and she navigates the Macy’s on 34th Street like it’s her home (and this is not an exaggeration in the least). She also has an uncanny ability to select clothing that fits me perfectly, without me being there. The clothes she picks for me always fit better than the ones I pick out myself, when I have my own body there to try things on. Yes, she is magic. No, I will not lend her to you.

What did I do before I met her? I don’t remember. Just kidding. I do remember, it’s just that I don’t really want to. Before I met her, I trudged through grocery stores in a frenzy. I forgot things. I basically didn’t buy clothes. Like, ever.

On the rare occasions that I do need to shop myself, I can generally do it online, thus avoiding the crowds of people altogether. Even more rarely, I do actually have to go into a store and make a purchase. When I do, I’m more prepared than I used to be. I’m still not the perfect model of an all-American shopper (and never will be), but I can usually get in and out of a store without freaking out. Here’s how I do it.

I have a plan, I know where I’m going, and I know how to get there.

I know which train I’ll be taking to the store. I know which way to walk from the train to the store. I’ve thought about where in the store I’m going, and I go straight there without feeling like I need to look at any other items I pass.

I summon some calm around myself. I remember it, and replenish, as needed.

This is one I practiced implementing when I attended Rally at Havi’s Playground. Before entering a challenging situation, I breathe in some calm. I picture it radiating out from my body. I hold my head high. I roll my shoulders back. I breathe slowly and intentionally. I try to put a non-frown on my face. When my ears start pounding with the thump of music and loudspeaker announcements, I take another deep breath in and re-summon my calm.

I picture how I want this whole thing to go down.

Before I start shopping, I imagine what it will look like. How I’ll enter the store (with calm, confidence and a warm smile). How I’ll ask the person at the register how her day is going. How I’ll exit with my calm intact and the item successfully purchased.

I give myself buckets of kudos when it’s over.

What’s that? Other people don’t give themselves hearty pats on the back after purchasing one item? Well, I’m not other people, am I? When I complete a shopping trip, I feel proud of myself. I recognize what an accomplishment that is for me. Even if I don’t share this particular accomplishment with anyone else, I’m impressed with it, and I tell myself so.

I plan some relaxation for the rest of the day.

This doesn’t necessarily mean I have to go to the spa (though maybe it does). For me, it means that I can put off other stressful tasks until tomorrow, when I’ve recharged. Or maybe it means I can stay at home for the rest of the day. Whatever I decide it should look like, I try to make the rest of the day a downhill ride.

Rest assured: this isn’t how my shopping trips always go. Sometimes they stink, and I go home and hibernate crankily afterward. I’m sharing this because it’s my ideal, and it does happen sometimes. It’s possible, for me and for you, too.

. . .

Whether you’re highly sensitive or not, I’d love to know how you navigate shopping. Any tips or tricks you’re proud to share?

“Ecosystems are functional units consisting of living things in a given area, non-living chemical and physical factors of their environment, linked together through through nutrient cycle and energy flow.”

I like that. And I like to think about my own system of support as a support ecosystem instead of simply a support system.

When I conjure up the image of a support system, I picture a pyramid of spheres, at the top of which is me. The spheres hold me up as long as they all stay in place, but if one falls out, we all just kind of topple to the ground, like a sad pile of oranges in the grocery store.

But when I conjure up the image of an ecosystem, I start to feel all warm and fuzzy. Maybe it’s because it reminds me of rainy days sitting in elementary school Science in the Pacific Northwest, but I immediately think of ferns and clouds and mud and streams and worms and rich, woody earth.

An ecosystem is not a static thing. An ecosystem is alive, constantly in flux and constantly balancing itself. When I think of myself within an ecosystem, I’m able to realize the ways in which I contribute to my own ecosystem, instead of just depending on a support system in my times of need. In the support system model, I feel a little bit helpless, like I’m delicate and at the mercy of everything holding me up.

When I shift to thinking of myself as one creature within a support ecosystem, I feel powerful and complex. I recognize the various processes that hold me up when I’m drooping. If I’m having trouble with my eating, I have my community of recovery to encourage me. If my health is lagging, I have a trusted acupuncturist, nutritionist, therapist and doctor to call. If I need a shoulder to cry on, I have my partner and my family and a community of close friends and confidants.

Another glorious thing about recognizing that I’m within an ecosystem (instead of just a me-centric support system) is that the ecosystem model recognizes that I’m interconnected and interdependent. Ideally, the other creatures in my ecosystem benefit from my existence, too. My community of eating supporters also benefits from my learning and my support when I’m able to give it. My acupuncturist benefits from the fee I pay for her service, and from the several new clients I’ve now referred to her. Same with my nutritionist, therapist and doctor: I give them testimonials to help them bring in more clients who are right for them. And, of course, I’m always referring friends and family. Finally, when my friends and family need help from me, I give it to them as I’m able.

The support ecosystem is generative. It keeps going and going, and the elements in it get repurposed as they move through. My colleague teaches me a trick that I use in my business to benefit a client. I hone the use of that trick, and I pass on my knowledge to another friend once I’ve mastered it. Now that friend can use that trick for herself and pass it on to others. Someday, it might even come back to me in a completely different (and improved) form.

Because I recognize that I contribute to my ecosystem, I actually utilize it. With the less-interconnected support system model, I might feel guilty reaching out to a friend at the end of a bad day. When I recognize that I’m part of the ecosystem, I reach out without guilt. I know that I’m giving my friend a gift when I lean on her: I’m letting her know that she’s important to me, and that I trust her. I’m establishing a bond, letting her know (without even saying so) that we can talk to each other honestly. I’m sharing with her my innermost thoughts that not everybody gets to hear. Someday, she might recall our conversation when she’s having her own bad day and remember that she’s not the only one who sometimes feels awful.

To my mind, the ecosystem model is better for everybody. Within it, I’m a necessary piece, but I’m not the center. My existence and active participation benefit others, and I simultaneously reap the benefits of interaction with other creatures and objects in my habitat.

When you think of yourself as one creature within a complex ecosystem, do you feel differently about reaching out for help? In what ways have you contributed to (or benefited from) your ecosystem (which very well might include the Effervescence community) recently?

I notice a sliver of a puddle above her lower lid, and then one tear tips easily over her lower lashes. She wipes it away, continues talking, the skin beneath her eye now damp. My chest is opening, expanding into my belly, my throat. I’m still listening.

First and foremost, I feel lucky to be here with her right now. Second, I’m amazed that she’s telling me what’s hard for her, without closing up. Third, I don’t yet comprehend the way the tears come easily for her, and without shame, and I admire that. A lot.

My own tears are hard to come by these days. It’s something that happens when I’m on Zoloft, as I have been, off and on, for years: I’m mostly free of depression, but it’s pretty difficult to cry. It’s also hard when you’ve been told your whole life to stop crying. When the moment presents itself, and crying is exactly the thing you want to do, the thing that would let the sad or the mad or the frustrated run its course, the conditioning kicks in and you just can’t do it.

Before the Zoloft, my tears were plentiful. I sometimes feel like I spent all of high school crying over any grade that wasn’t an A. That’s the thing, though: I was crying over grades instead of the deeper, harder stuff. I was crying over the things that were easy to cry over.

There have been deep dips since then, the times that always led to trying to get into a psychiatrist’s office as quickly as possible. Those were the times when I’d do everything with tears streaming down my face. I’d walk down the streets of Manhattan, drive over the 520 Bridge, go to the bathroom at work, feeling like my eyes were two inconvenient waterfalls. There was nothing I could do about it; nothing at all.

So now I’m learning to strike a balance. To tread a line where my emotions aren’t so far buried that tears never come, and expressed enough that the ones that spill are meaningful. I don’t expect to ever find the “perfect” balance, and that’s fine. For now, I’m grateful to be there when my friends spill a tear or two. I appreciate them. And I learn from them.

How close to the surface are your emotions? How do you feel about this?

Here’s what we do: I share what I want to recognize myself for. You share what you want to recognize yourself for. And then we all jump up and down/drink champagne/watch fireworks/throw confetti/give bear hugs. Whatever you prefer.

Let’s do it.

• I coached lots of incredible people and got to see them blossoming into even more brilliant versions of themselves. I got to witness them getting jobs, starting businesses, exceeding business projections, giving themselves time for their art after years of denying it, learning to let insecurities fade and truly connect with people, and experiencing honest communication with their partners. It all feels very happy-sigh worthy.
• In September, I took my first-ever business-driven trip to Portland. I got to participate in my first Rally, and I got to photograph Havi, Rhiannon, Jonathan, and Ev’Yan. This was all (very literally) a dream come true, and I still can’t believe my luck that the whole trip happened.
• I found a wonderful therapist and started going regularly. This has had the most wonderful deep-down effect on all the areas of my life, including my business.
• Thanks to my friend J, I found an awesome dentist and a very caring doctor (most of whose patients are queer). Thanks to my friend A, I found a wonderful gynecologist, who works largely with queer women. If you don’t know how hard it is to find queer-friendly/knowledgeable doctors, let me tell you: this is huge.
• Even though I’ve long been recovering from disordered eating and exercise, I had some remaining body thoughts and patterns that weren’t serving me. I’ve worked daily, all year, to investigate these patterns and learn more about them. The result has been a subtly happier, and healthier, me. Yay!
• I grew my relationships this year. I met new people, I went to parties even when I was scared, and I actively pursued friendships with amazing people. As a result, my circle of close friends is growing, and I find it much less intimidating to ask friends to spend time together. Also, I have almost no nervousness when I’m meeting new people and clients, since I’ve now met and made friends with so many fellow bloggers/Twitterers.
• I got to take some fun vacations this year. Mary and I took our first-ever vacation with friends (to Provincetown, MA), and we also got to spend a quiet weekend in rural New Jersey during the fall. I also got to see Adriana almost every other month, which was basically a dream come true.

I can’t think of anything else right now, so please tell me about everything you’re celebrating from the past twelve months. I would absolutely love to shriek with joy about everything that’s happened in your year.

Comments: Sharing our proudness is crazy difficult. That’s why it happens so rarely. Here’s how we do it: We share an accomplishment or an excitement. (We don’t have to get specific, or share any details we’re uncomfortable sharing.) This is also a very special space, because we don’t have to qualify our achievements. We don’t have to say why we’re excited about something (though we can if we want to). Also, you can let us know if you’d like us to keep our excitements about your achievements to ourselves. Otherwise, we’ll respond with nothing but positive showers of affection, so your achievements may continue to grow and flourish.

I’m feeling grateful right now. For family, friends, and clients. For New York City (my home) and Seattle (my homeland). For the many thoughtful responses to my survey from a couple weeks back. Thank you so much for your feedback. If you’d still like to weigh in on what you want to see on Effervescence in the coming months, you’re welcome to. Really; thank you.

I created a new wallpaper for my computer with a photo I took in Seattle last week. You can download it here for yourself. Consider it a small holiday gift from me. Please also feel free to pass it on to friends.

Like many of you, I’m feeling quiet and reflective at the moment. I’m also rather excited about the start of a new year. I’m wrapping up my very last coachin’ school requirements, which means I’m going to be posting on the blog more frequently and will also have more availability for photo and coaching sessions. (Yay!) All this thrills me to no end, because it means I get to spend more time connecting deeply with people. Like you.

Thanks for being here. Seriously; I’m grateful for you.