When did normal life get to be a race? I wasn’t aware it was until last weekend when I finally put my feet up and, hallelujah, read a book. There was all this pushing and pulling and running in my life. Hurry to get Liv to school. Attempt to be super productive at home. Conquer the laundry pile, conquer the dishes, conquer the recycling. Rush through my photography work, making sure all my ducks are in a row. Hurry to enjoy my last few relaxing minutes before Livia gets home. And then let her relax, too, but only for a few minutes before getting homework done (my favorite moments of the day as I’ve already related). Time for dinner! And bed! And hello, let’s start again.

When did life take on this pace?

Perhaps that’s the best part about leaving town for my annual girls’ weekend at a lovely lake house in Minnesota: the break from running life’s race. The chance to see that life actually isn’t a race at all and that I’ve turned into into a frenetic, pressure-filled run for no reason. My moments of removal from the daily grind allow me to reflect, to reorder, to find joy again in my calling.

A respite by the lake.

Filled with food and drinks and books and conversation with some of the oldest and dearest friends I can imagine.

I am grateful.