The Art of Sitting Down

Finding Wonder Isn't a Way Out. It's a Way Through.

This Sunday, as Charlie (my toy poodle) is all curled up on my studio desk snoring vigorously into my one good ear, I exhale and let my weight sink into my white-faux-everything task chair.

Some days it will be 2 hours before I realize, once again, I am not sitting, sinking into the strength of the seat I paid $37 for on Amazon what now seems like a few lifetimes ago.

Instead, my default mode seems to be set to “sinew in spasm”, as if by the sheer power of muscle contraction alone I could defy the force of gravity if something were to go wrong.

Maybe you relate?

All of this complicated by a spine shaped like the letter S with only 2 movable vertebrae below my neck, held in place by 2 stainless steel rods. My body is a brave creature, beautiful in all the ways she shows up.

Alexei Savrasov, 1871 | Favorite wonder practice when I can’t actually get out in nature » Imagine paintings were portals I could step into and walk around in.

A few years ago, I worked with a somatic/posture/embodiment coach to literally learn how to sit in a chair.

(He was incredible, btw. Here’s his Instagram.)

It took hours of practice. Hours of reminding myself to let the frame underneath me do the work. Sticky notes and phone timers, all reminding me to allow my very special body to actually be held by the chair. Or the floor. Or the bed.

It’s a skill I have absolutely not mastered…

And I’m having to revisit it all over again thanks to throwing my back out while trying to not enrage my neck incision further. So it is kind of top of mind at the moment.

My physical balance is feral and fragile all at the same time.

Don’t Just Do Something, Sit There

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And here we all are… in this equally feral, fragile moment.

Sitting down is not the same thing as sitting out.

Maybe you’ve heard or felt this phrase bubble up in the middle of chaotic or frightening situations… don’t just sit there, DO something.

Transparently, I’ve only felt that about 1000x in the last 76 days.

Our words really do shape our worlds. And somehow, that phrase shapes a narrative that implies sitting is passivity, weakness, or punishment.

Sitting is none of these things.

Sitting is the active work of taking up space in the storm.

It is the active work of intention and presence that says I will not let the present moment drive me into overwhelm, fear, or shutdown.

Sitting with discomfort is a muscle that builds our capacity for wonder.

Because intentional wonder is almost impossible to find when we are living in reaction mode.

Slowing things down when everything screams do something NOW builds our internal resilience. Each time we stay present, we expand our threshold for what we can manage.

In a world that equates productivity with motion, sitting is an act of resistance that says, “I am worthy of taking up space even when I am not producing.”

Sitting is often where the deeper work begins. The grieving, forgiving, reimagining, accepting, trusting—it all starts with sitting.

And sitting itself can be an act of protest by refusing to be invisible or silent on the things that matter most.

Sitting is all these things. And so much more.

Wonder Isn’t About Finding the Way Out… It’s About Finding the Way Through

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Sometimes sitting, letting yourself fully sink in to the present moment may be the only effective way to find your way through it.

The wonder we find when we sit becomes the path we walk when we rise.

The funny thing about wonder. You can’t find it in a moment you’re not presently in.

We can remember and reflect on its experience in the past. We can imagine and see its edges in the future.

But we can only sink into wonder’s fullness in the now.

Also. Sitting isn’t stuckness.

Though, sometimes it feels like it.

When we feel stuck and overwhelmed, reframing our lack of movement can help move us gently toward our next steps.

So what does that look like?

In a moment when I feel the familiar nag of anxiety when I sit down to write or create…

I will very intentionally take a deep breath and, on the exhale, picture my body sinking into the seat.

I will take time to feel the seat beneath me and remind myself...

I am not stuck. I am seated.

Being seated is a place of agency and authority, not helplessness.

I open my eyes and notice the light filtering across my desk. The paintings on my easel… the words in my journals.

In this moment, I am OK.

In this moment, I have what I need.

In this moment, I am writing to you.

And, then, we will write a better story as we rise together.

You are dearly loved.