Eva Bradley: Awaiting eye of storm, do not disturb

Eva Bradley

Personally I am giving Mother Nature a high five for turning on exactly the sort of four-day weekend dreams are made of ...
I'VE never quite understood the motivation behind optimistically checking weather forecasts in the lead-up to long weekends, as though life and death itself rests on a prediction of blue skies and warm winds.
What's wrong with dark and stormy skies?
Personally I am giving Mother Nature a high five for turning on exactly the sort of four-day weekend dreams are made of; a day or two given over to sleeping in and reading in bed while the remains of Cyclone Ita thrashes about outside, followed by what I'm assured will be a made-to-order, flat-light day while I shoot a wedding on Saturday, a sunny 'come on Eva, do something with your life' Sunday, rounded off perfectly with another wet day on Monday to recover from whatever enthusiasms the previous day's sunshine produces.
Once upon a time when I had a life (well, one that didn't see me spend every weekend working from September to May), I was a sun goddess.
I lived for the first brave daffodils of August, emerging cautiously with the promise of a long, hot summer dominated by days at the beach.
These days, what excites me most is the first big storm or frosty morning of autumn - a harbinger of winter and the much-needed sabbatical the season brings for a busy wedding photographer.
Winter means hanging up the camera, turning up the heat pump and watching reruns on DVD with a bowl of burger rings.
Is it indulgent? Absolutely. Is it wicked? Absolutely not.
I'm not sure if it's a hard-working Kiwi ethic thing or just a 'me' thing, but for some reason I always feel I ought to be out there in the world doing things with my spare time. The dog should be walked, the outdoors enjoyed, the body should be moving and the mind should be active.
Sometimes (especially on Easter weekends dominated by tropical cyclones), it pays to question that mentality and ask if it is always the right one to have.
Being 'lazy' (or what I prefer to euphemistically call 'getting the go-slows') is one of the most curative things we can do with our spare time in the Age of Productivity.
Moving fast and achieving more may help those we work for increase their bottom line and it might make our children tap into one more little dusty corner of potential, but at what cost?
Being still is a dying art. The contemplation and creativity that comes with it is being replaced instead by an itchiness to do instead of just to be.
For what real gain?
As far as I can see from being what is perceived as a 'successful' adult living in the first world, I am no better off for my well-practiced ability to multi-task and work harder than the next guy. In fact, it's a fair call to say I'm worse off.
I'm worn out, I'm stressed, I have no time for friendships and I certainly have no time to read the 10 or 12 books that have piled up unread over the busy months of my working 'season'.
That's why long, wet and windy Easter breaks are not a disappointment, they're a delight. All I can truly hope for now is that the predicted bright sunshine of Sunday gives way instead to a dark and broody day of rain so there is no need to push back the duvet at all, unless it's to go and get second helpings of peanut butter on toast.