Will you write me a song?
Will you yield to the call?
Outside of my father, I’m the only one in my extended family who willingly spends prolonged time in our village nestled in the deepest part of southern Belize.
“There’s nothing there,” my relatives complain. “There’s nothing to do.”
Well, if resting, dreaming, planning and reflecting constitute “doing nothing” then yeah, I suppose that’s what I do. I’m pleased that my self-work in decolonizing my relationship to productivity is paying off. It is a journey without end, but the fruits I’ve gathered so far are lovely.
