Rest as a Skill in a World of Distraction
2025 is my "Turns out napping as rest isn't for me" era
The last two days of the year unfolded in unexpected ways. What began as simple acts of creation—making a mezcalita and simmering a ramen broth—transformed into hours of care and quiet ritual. Somewhere in the tang of tamarind, the sweetness of blood orange, and the sesame warmth of my broth, I found something I hadn’t expected: rest.
Rest, not in stillness, but in the kind of work that asks for nothing except presence.
Earlier, ahead of Christmas, I found myself window shopping, drawn to objects I didn’t need—an $80 fountain pen, a $40 mini leather notebook, $120 glasses. They were beautiful, tempting in their promise of productivity and refinement. But I paused. I realized I didn’t need to buy anything to feel rested or restored. Gratitude filled the space instead—gratitude for the tools, time, and presence I already had to create something beautiful with my own hands.
(Though I did snag a gift for my mom. Generosity and restraint can coexist, right?)
A Mezcalita Worth Sauntering For
It started with a mezcalita—or mocktail-ita, depending on the drinker. It was a two-day process of layered beauty, beginning with Flor de Azar, an artisanal triple sec distilled by women in Mexico City and infused with citrus and botanicals from Veracruz. Its floral warmth transformed the drink into something that felt celebratory and deeply rooted.
The rim alone was a glorious explosion of flavors: cane sugar mingling with Jacobsen kosher sea salt, Malden salt flakes, Chinese five spice, cayenne, and chili pepper. The ice cubes? Blood orange roses with a whole star anise nestled in their center, tiny sculptures of winter elegance. These Viski glasses, with their timeless design and quality craftsmanship, added an extra layer of elegance to the experience, making each sip feel like a celebration.
If you were watching me make it, you might have felt transported. Picture a 1920s saloon, its Chesterfield couches and walnut tables bathed in the airy glow of mid-century nostalgia, softened by Japandi-inspired feng shui. I was dressed for timelessness: deep olive cargo pants, a black Both& muscle tank, and an open burnt-orange-meets-caramel corduroy button-down. My sculptural mariner-linked gold necklace and matching post earrings were a nod to understated luxury.
The process itself was meditative. Blood orange halves smoked atop the burner, releasing wisps of citrus smoke. Then came the tamarind syrup: hours of shucking pods by hand, boiling, and straining them against a fine-mesh sieve with the back of a wooden spoon. It was at the 4th time back around, I was reminded of my homestay grandmothers in Morocco, where I lived for a year, who would sit next to as they would muscle out the couscous for hours ahead of Friday’s infamous tagine. Rest is a skill—and apparently, I joined making tamarind syrup.
Tasks stretched into moments of grace. My two-year-old daughter Nyah “helped,” turning five-minute steps into half-hour meanders. And when she paused to resist nap time, the cold-brew dashi steeped longer than planned, becoming better than expected. Maybe my 2025 motto can be: I can’t be rushed—I’m steeping!
Did you know rest can also be grinding sesame seeds?
Then there was the ramen broth. I first made it years ago, a practice born of care and honed into ritual. This time, I pulled out the nectarine Le Creuset Enameled Cast Iron Dutch Oven—a group wedding gift from Amani’s family and dear friend/my brother-in-law’s godfather. Its golden-orange hue glowed like nectar as it cradled 6.75 quarts of broth.
The process was familiar and sacred: grinding white sesame seeds in a mortar and pestle, mincing garlic and ginger until the kitchen hummed with their aroma, and simmering it all into a broth rich enough to feel like nourishment for the soul. That’s when it hit me! Rest, fr, is not just for naps, bc I found it in the medicinal meditation of grinding sesame seeds.
These creations weren’t rushed or judged. I wasn’t chasing perfection or efficiency, just the simple pleasure of making. If I didn’t pause to notice how I was feeling, I would not have known simmering broth was also teaching me patience. Sharpening my skill of rest.
Rest Is More Than Stillness
According to the American Time Use Survey, nearly everyone engages in leisure daily, yet most of it is spent watching TV or scrolling. It’s leisure, but it’s not rest. I’ve realized that rest isn’t just about stopping—it’s about noticing. Sometimes, it’s found in the sacred, deliberate work of creating—when the process itself becomes the reward. That’s why some rest is through creation and I don’t need to pressure myself when napping isn’t most days my thing.
As I think about the year ahead, I want to explore this further. The concept of the 7 types of rest—physical, mental, sensory, creative, emotional, social, and spiritual—has been on my mind. What if rest isn’t just something we stumble into when exhaustion catches up with us? What if it’s a skill we nurture, one dimension at a time?
In the coming weeks, I’ll be diving into this idea more deeply, exploring what rest looks like, feels like, and how we might reclaim it in all its forms.