The Energy Hangover

I feel a bit hungover today, but I haven’t been drinking. It is a debt of a different kind—an energy hangover.

Yesterday morning, I skipped my daily practice of Fifteen Minutes of Nothing. It wasn’t a dramatic choice or even an intentional one; I just casually let it slip. I thought, “Maybe it isn’t essential after all. I’ll take a day off.”

The rest of the day followed suit. I didn't write in the morning - I needed to get to the ranch. I stayed longer than I’d planned. I spent two hours in an easy, enjoyable conversation with a couple I’d just met—a relaxing, life-giving connection.

But by the time that conversation ended, the day had almost vanished. I realized I wasn’t going to have the chance to take Luna out for a ride. I had planned on that sunset ride—Luna and I hadn’t been out together in a week.

But I had another commitment—a social event to attend. So, instead of changing into jeans and cowboy boots, I took a shower, did my hair, and found something presentable to wear. I told myself the familiar lie: “Sometimes you just have to do what you have to do.”

When I arrived at the event, I realized that instead of feeling celebratory, I felt drained. Everyone was laughing and having fun and enjoying themselves. I was exhausted trying to navigate it all.

I hadn’t factored in that I was trying to do it on an empty tank.

I hadn’t filled the tank in the morning with silence. I hadn’t filled it in the afternoon with my own "forward" motion riding Luna. I was trying to navigate the event as a hollow shell.

The switch flipped suddenly. It wasn’t the event - it was me. I had nothing left to give. I had to leave.

I realized something vital in that exit: Even "life-giving" conversations with strangers are an output. They are beautiful, yes, but they aren't input.

For me, input is the silence. Input is being with the animals. Input is being in the natural world.

When we trade our input for a "should," we aren't just being dutiful—we are making ourselves vulnerable to every arrow thrown our way.

Martha Beck once wrote about the danger of the "push through" mentality—how a minor moment of ignoring her own "thirst" led to a total meltdown later. We think we are being strong or responsible by skipping the silence or the ride to meet an obligation, but we are actually just trying to run on empty.

I’d never take my cell phone out into the world without charging it first—why do I think I can do that with my soul?

It’s funny—I’ve always looked at the idea of “Sabbath” as a duty—a commandment, a "should" to be obeyed. But taking that time out to do nothing, to accomplish nothing, to refuel, to recharge—that is not a chore but a gift. How could I have missed that for so long?

Today, I am reclaiming my rhythm. I am realizing that my "fifteen minutes of nothing" isn't a luxury—it’s essential. It’s not a chore—it’s a gift.