Tired

It's curious how the word tired has come to mean almost one thing.

We speak of being tired after work, after pressure, after carrying too much, after long weeks. The word already seems coloured by depletion, as though tiredness is simply the feeling of capacity running out. It's easy, then, to forget that there are other ways of becoming tired.

A day at the beach often ends with exactly the same heavy limbs and drooping eyes. The body longs for a shower, something warm to eat, and an early night. It's a deep exhaustion.

Yet it doesn't feel as though anything has been taken away. If anything, it feels quietly satisfying. There's a fullness to it that's difficult to name. The body feels spent, but not emptied.

Perhaps that's what feels so unfamiliar. We often imagine nourishment as something that restores us. Something that leaves us refreshed, lighter, ready for whatever comes next.

Maybe that's only one kind of nourishment. Maybe there are experiences that don't leave us with more energy. Maybe they leave us with less.

Perhaps we've allowed one kind of tiredness to define the word, until we've almost forgotten that tiredness can sometimes arrive with a sense of fullness rather than loss.