Label it however you choose, but I have come to accept that I am a person who is never fully at rest, never fully at peace. My entire childhood was spent with my mother asking me to please be still, to sit down, to stop flitting around. My father used to say “Take a breath” when my speech was rapid fire and I was doing what he would describe as “swallowing my words.”

And, let us be honest, I did spend a fair amount of time in the corner at school. Today we might call it “time out” but in my era it was simply standing in the corner. The cause? Talking, fidgeting and the like. I remember vividly one fourth grade experience. We had been given some sort of creative writing prompt. I couldn’t settle on a direction so started a bit late and then had so very much to say that I couldn’t get it all on paper. My hand was up immediately to share and I launched into the story that was, clearly, far too long to be on the page I had written. You guessed it, I was in the corner and at that age, in truth, I was mortified by it.

Another embarrassing incident was a year later and, thankfully, there was no “corner” punishment in middle school. But we were asked to cut out paper letters for a bulletin board and I, in my haste and impatience with a task like that, cut them poorly in the teacher’s estimation. I vividly recall her telling me, in front on the entire class, that I should go home and practice cutting out paper dolls! As if!

As I grew I was fortunate that I learned how to manage and learned how to cover. Deadlines, to this day, are my best friend and if I had to choose a single word to describe myself it would be restless. My foot is usually jiggling or tapping or bouncing and I want to be in motion—mentally or physically—all the time. It’s why sleep is often a challenge, it’s why I am constantly concerned about what we are “going to do next.” It’s why I find calm in juggling many balls all at once.

I know who I am and I know this about myself. It’s in my nature, my DNA, my essence and my core. It drives a lot of my behaviors and I know that.

But it does not stop me from longing for stillness. Even in my yoga practice, I struggle to stay focused on breathing and shavasana often feels endless. There is no quiet place in the center of my being, there is no gentle flow but rather waves beating always against the shore.

There are moments when I crave that stillness, when I wish I could just stop and breathe. I admire those who have that in their nature, who cannot just be still but can center and can, in that way, feel whole. For me, I recognize and I accept and I try to bring my focus, always, to filling my full heart.