I’m in what I’ll call a fallow period.

Imagine I’m farmland. In, uh, Iowa. Soybeans maybe? Yeah, soybeans. OK cool, so I’m farmland, and the harvesters just took all my juicy crops away, and now I just have to … sit here. And wait. Until when? Well, until I’ve recharged enough to do it all again. Until I’m needed. Until I’m called.

It’s necessary, rejuvenating, and I’m going a little insane.

Do you know what happens when you just sit around and recharge? You contemplate ALL THE THINGS. Then you contemplate contemplating. Then you contemplate actual templates. Then you explode.

I know the recipe for this particular type of fallow period: settle down with somebody relatively peaceful, remain employed at a job you’ve had longer than 2 years, live in the same apartment or home as the prior year(s), and have zero kids.

It sounds charming. That’s basically half of my life goals right there. So why do I feel so much like unoccupied farmland?

I’ve never been the most active person I know, but this recharging thing is a bit much even for me. How do I know when it’s supposed to end? How do I end it? If I recharge for too long will it destroy my battery, like an iPhone? And other questions.

Another fallow period occurred a year or two into my first job out of grad school: I was consistently, almost comfortably single, and my biggest debates in life were what mode of transportation I’d use to get to work, whether to go to the gym in the morning or evening, and where and when to pick up groceries. I distinctly remember wondering if I should pick up a light drug habit during this time, just to mix things up.

In planting and harvesting season, the pace is crazy; it may be all you can do to survive. (Also, this metaphor lost its way; I’m not sure if I’m the crops or the farmer here, or which one exactly is surviving.) During fallow periods, you’re not concerned with “hanging on for the ride” so much as “sitting quietly in a slow-moving car listening to NPR.”

I’m sure this period is a blessing, and I’ll kick myself later for squandering the time. But I have a plan. And that plan is therapy. No wait, I have another plan – one we can all use.

Step One: Redirect Your Crazy Energy

First, we can redirect that survival energy into something low-key and healthy. Currently I’m redirecting like 80% of it into worrying constantly about what I’m going to do next, without a really specific idea of what’s actually coming next or why there needs to be something next. I’m creating stress out of nothing, like a god. (Not healthy; do not recommend). The other 20% is redirected toward doing laundry and puzzles. (Very healthy; 4.5 stars on Yelp.)

My work now is to take 20% of that unhealthy 80% and redirect it again, and so on and so on. I’m thinking of making pillows and taking voice lessons. You know, fallow stuff.

Me rn

Step Two: Be Grateful

I know: I need to practice gratitude. Yes, apparently you have to practice it, like the clarinet, because otherwise your gratitude concerts will be a total chore to listen to and you’ll know your parents are obfuscating when they smile and say “Wow! You really did that!”

Instead of focusing on the thousands of things I’m not doing, I’m diligently practicing – every day or I’ll never progress! – being grateful that my life isn’t going down in flames, and that I’m not so stressed and sleep-deprived that I can’t totally distinguish things that happened in dreams from things that happened.

Step Three: So Much Sleep, Like Wow

Sleep: it’s how you recharge humans. Sleep: the most fun you can have without being aware of anything. Sleep: it’s what’s for dinner.

Fallow periods are a great time to catch up on sleep, even if all the scientists say it’s not possible to catch up on sleep or stockpile sleep in a hump on your back or sell sleep. But how do we really know that, and who here is an actual camel? Is 12 hours of sleep a night too much? Was Rumpelstiltskin a real man from Queens? And other, other questions.

I hope you enjoy your fallow periods, when they come (and I hope they do come, from time to time). I know I will try.

me again