Hugo Simberg’s King Hobgoblin Sleeping presents a mythical figure at rest, bathed in the soft glow of a serene, moonlit landscape. The king, a creature of immense power and otherworldly presence, lies vulnerable and still, reminding us that even the extraordinary must pause. The painting’s muted palette and dreamlike quality evoke a sense of calm, almost sacred in its simplicity. It is a moment of quiet renewal, a reflection on the universal necessity of rest.
This painting resonates with me now in a way it might not have when I was younger. As a youth, I didn’t yet understand the value of rest—how it restores us and allows us to be present for the demands of life. It wasn’t something I dismissed outright but something I lacked the experience to fully appreciate. Back then, the world felt so immediate and full of energy that pausing seemed unnecessary. As I’ve grown older, though, I’ve come to understand rest as essential—not a sign of weakness, but a source of strength.
This understanding came in part from my father’s example. Every day after work, my dad would nap from 3 to 4. This was understood as his time—a moment to recover after working early hours and long days. As a kid, I didn’t quite grasp this. My father’s adult world seemed foreign to me, and his need for rest was something I accepted without fully understanding. Now, I see how vital those naps were. They were not just for physical recovery but for transitioning from the responsibilities of work to the role of father and husband. It was his way of recharging so he could give his best to us in the evenings.
During the pandemic, I found myself napping for entirely different reasons. Living alone for the first time, I used naps as a way to cope with depression and loneliness. Those quiet moments of rest became a reprieve from the weight of isolation and uncertainty. My cats, always by my side, brought warmth and comfort during those times, their presence turning my solitude into something less stark.
What began as a coping mechanism has since become something I cherish. These days, I look forward to a short nap after work—a chance to refresh and find balance before the evening. My cats still curl up beside me, making those moments even more special. Napping is no longer just about escaping the day’s burdens; it’s about renewal, about finding a small pocket of peace in a busy world.
Simberg’s King Hobgoblin Sleeping captures this truth beautifully. The painting suggests that rest is not a luxury reserved for the idle but a necessity for all beings—even a mythical king. It reminds us that rest connects us, grounding us in the natural rhythm of life. In a culture that often prioritizes constant motion, Simberg’s work is a quiet call to embrace the stillness that sustains us.
As I reflect on my relationship with rest, I see it as a journey from youthful inexperience to a deeper appreciation for life’s pauses. Rest is not just about recovering energy—it’s about preparing ourselves to be present for the moments that matter. Whether it’s a mythical hobgoblin or a father finding time for his family, rest is a universal act of care, a reminder that strength and renewal go hand in hand.