HeyJaredNotes on Rest
Notes on Rest is my Sunday letter to myself... and to you. A weekly practice of choosing rest in a busy life. Gentle reflections on work, routine, grounding, and becoming a rested woman, week by week.
- Indexed issues, last 90 days
- 12
- Latest publication
- Sep 19, 2026
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- Earliest in this view
- Jul 6, 2026
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Sometimes the past is just too loud! (opens the original)
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Since Saturday, I have been thinking about how strange the brain is.How the present can give it evidence real, present-tense, undeniable evidence, and somehow it will still reach into the past, pull out an old wound, and say, See? Forget the present evidence the past is what it means. I have been thinking about this because I have noticed this as a pattern with myself.Someone doesn't respond to my message, and my mind begins to fill in the silence.Maybe they are losing interest.Maybe something h
I think love and marriage are scam for quality time lovers. (opens the original)
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I was thinking this morning briefly, how i am in my 20s now and suddenly for some reason i will meet a guy and marry him perhaps in less than 6 months. In those six months we may spend less than 50 hours together.The routine of life now revolves around work and work alone takes 8 - 9 hours max.Weekend dates maybe 5 hours max and even texting may not be more than 3 hours of communication in a day.You both are spending this much time away from yourselves. Now there’s family, church, responsibiliti
August made me wonder what I would do with $40,000 a year. (opens the original)
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August made me wonder what I would do with $40,000 or its equivalent in any currency for a year. What would I do?<img alt="euro banknote collection on wooden surface" class="sizing-normal" height="2333" src="https://images.unsplash.com/photo-15
I think about death while on the waxing table. (opens the original)
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The paper under my back is loud, crackling like dry leaves every time I shift my weight, a cheap plasticized shield meant to keep the leather clean between strangers. The room smells of synthetic lavender and warm resin, a sweet, cloying fog that hangs heavily in the small space. Above me, the popcorn ceiling has a small water stain shaped vaguely like a thumbprint, and I stare at it with a lost haze but certain dedication to make out what it is trying to tell me like it is some secret whisper f
Deaths to the women I wanted to be. (opens the original)
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Death to the women I wanted to be,the one who wanted to be admiredbefore she could believe she was beautiful.Death to the woman I wanted to be,who mistook being wantedfor being worthy.Death to the womanwho made herself smallerso love could have somewhere to sit.Death to the womanwho thought she had to rushto prove, to achieve, to arrivebefore her time was due.Death to the womanwho carried every possibilityexcept her own.Death to those women because I buried them one by one,the women I wore like
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