A Guide to Radical Rest
When did wellness completely jump the shark? And where can it be found?
Note: a late letter tonight. I was supposed to be at a cool piercing party, then a sexy skincare thing at Bergdorf's, and then a fancy black-tie event with all my friends, but life got in the way, and I found myself instead with some quiet time to write. You’ll see why my social agenda tonight flies in the face of everything below and why the universe seems to have stepped in on my behalf. This one felt like a night send.
Today, I had a little time to kill after a haircut. I had one of my dogs with me, so I went to La Mercerie on Howard, where they always welcome her. I ordered a single glass of orange wine (Vivanterre) and a toast with butter and anchovies. I asked the server if I could have radishes on the side. He squinted at me hesitantly. “They’ve done it for me before,” I lied sweetly. “It might be an extra charge,” He said. I told him that was okay.
I sent a photo of my wine to Emily, who replied that she was about to have a beer as well. We’d both just returned from a stay at The Ranch in Hudson Valley, a new outpost of the famed Malibu wellness retreat geared towards East Coasters. The Ranch is known for early wakeups and weigh-ins, a strenuous appointed exercise regimen, and their plant-based, gluten-free, dairy-free food, of which they give you very little. We were frequently reminded what a treat it was that we were given coffee in the morning, as caffeine was apparently not always allowed. And booze? Forget it.
Programs run from just a few days to a full week, depending on how much you want to push yourself in the name of detox and restoration. The New York outpost is nested inside the bucolic, historic JP Morgan estate in Tuxedo Park. A five-day stay will run you upwards of 7k. If you are at all triggered by body image issues or disordered eating, I would steer clear. To me, it struck a note somewhere between a very high-end rehab and a fancy fat camp.
It was wellness, run amok.
(In my most Kiki Palmer voice, “Sorry to this man.” They were nice enough to have me out there, but overall, I left feeling uneasy about their whole pitch, and I have to be honest about that.)
If you are looking for a more grounded wellness vacation, I would recommend Blackberry Mountain instead. It offers many of the same amenities but with a go-at-your-own-pace Southern laissez-faire rather than perky rigor.
So I sat, post-Ranch, with my radishes, my butter, and my wine, at exactly 4:00 in the afternoon, in total solitude with my dog, and people-watched. I thought to myself, this is wellness. And then I wished I had some flaky salt.
You haven’t heard from me much this week. In my horoscope, Chani Nicholas recommended embracing “radical rest”, a nomenclature I immediately adopted. Perhaps it’s the Italian in my blood or maybe just my Southern upbringing, but I like most things slow. I’ve resented the frenetic energy of my life the last year or so. Now that so many of the hard things I’ve been working through are finished, I need to take life at my own pace for a while.
I protect my free time with ferocity. I find myself saying no to most things I’m invited to so that I can do nothing at all. To me, “nothing” is making a fire and reading, wandering around The Strand, cooking whatever I’ve found at the market, or playing with my dogs.
In my 20s, I thrived in busyness, but now I like my days more when I am not rushed. I enjoy itineraries less and less because most of the best things happen when you are not planning, looking, or expecting. Having this attitude is at once the easiest and most difficult thing to do in a city like New York.
In my ferreting around for the definition of radical rest, I’ve slept a lot. I got a really great facial at Joanna Czech. I wandered around my neighborhood with no agenda but a delicious coffee with WHOLE, DAIRY milk. I’ve taken private Pilates classes because my practice has slipped since I moved to New York. I’ve brought my dogs to more places. I’ve sat outside at Bar Pisellino with my Mom and taken turns guessing how all the people around us know one another. I’ve laid in my bed with headphones on and listened to music with my full attention. I bought myself new shoes. I filled my patio with loads of fresh herb plants that I’ve not yet killed. I’ve bought myself lots of flowers. Took lots of baths. I’ve said “no” to quite a lot of people, set new boundaries with others, and given a wretched old client the final boot (and block button).
I have found that radical rest isn’t really about my body at all but more about my soul. I don’t want to make time for simplicity; I just want it to be. I am my best self when I can be idle, social, curious, and live with well-considered freedom.
Have you ever been hugged by words? Jalil Johnson doesn’t know it, but he gave me one of the best compliments I’ve ever received one night recently when he told me, “You just feel like home to me.”
That is what I want, to feel like home for the people who care for me. I am craving softness, romance, and ease more than ever. I can’t have that if I’m as overdrawn as I’ve been since last May. I’ve spent a year hurling myself at getting situated into this new life, and the stress of it almost killed me. I had to howl really loudly for a really long time to find my pack. But I needed to handle the things (and people) that were fucking with my peace.
So I did that — all of that — for the sake of doing nothing.
This might be my favorite post of yours. ❤️
Love the honest review!!! And your crispy ass Diet Coke 🤌🏼🤌🏼