The Fine Art of Doing Nothing
By: Rebecca E. Neely
Tags: Self Improvement, Life Lessons, Writing Life, Mindfulness, Life

It’d been a hellacious week of work — you know the ones, when there’s something to do every single second of every single minute of every single hour. Throw in the preparation for a dinner party, shopping with my daughter for clothes for a college interview, a doctor’s appointment, a sink heaped with dirty dishes because the pipes need fixed, all the usual suspects of cooking and laundry, and I had myself a nasty case of overwhelm.

And don’t even get me started on the holidays.

When I couldn’t find my phone one morning, spent no less than twenty minutes ripping the house apart looking for it, gave up, then found it in my purse after arriving at work, I knew I’d hit the wall.

I wanted to write. And I did. But it wasn’t my best work. I was reminded of that by someone I admire, and while it was hard to hear, I’m glad she told me. But not only was the quality of my writing suffering. I was suffering.

Life was zigging.

I zagged.

Breathe

I’m taking a breath. I’m regrouping. I don’t feel like there’s time, but I’m making time. And I’m stopping all the negative chatter in my head that’s telling me I’m a failure. That I’m not good enough. That I can’t cut it.

Hogwash.

Instead of reacting, of flailing for ideas and coming up with crap, I’m doing the exact opposite of what my ambitious and disciplined self is railing against. What, intuitively, makes no sense.

I’m doing nothing.

I’m burned out. And it’s only going to get worse if I keep hammering at myself. Sometimes, life moves too fast sometimes to keep up with my aspirations. I slowed it down, purposefully, mindfully, in the last few days. I stopped the world and got off, as my father used to say.

My Version of Nothing

After work, I went to the grocery store to gather what I needed for the dinner party, which is for my daughter’s birthday. I chose to be in the moment, to enjoy the experience of shopping. The colors and textures and shapes of the produce, which are pleasing to the eye. Perusing some new products. I took my time, made sure I had everything on my list.

Then I moseyed over to the bookstore, where I bought a coffee and had some of the best biscotti I’ve ever tasted. I browsed shelves and stacks, found new titles to read. Next came the big box store, where I meandered, ate my way through the aisles, sampling the ravioli, cheese, and fruit being offered. And found a book my daughter had been wanting in hardback — for half price. I even found a new coat for myself, something I’d been needing.

I enjoyed the drive home on country roads. The scenery. The fields, studded with deer. The russets, golds and reds of autumn. The sunset. Once home, I unloaded groceries, indulged in a movie. And went to bed early.

Not once, during any of this, did I check my Smartphone.

It Put Me Right

The next day, I woke up refreshed. And I wrote. That siren’s song had called me back, as I’d hoped it would. And it was downright delicious. It wasn’t another assignment. Another ‘have to’. But a ‘want to’. Even ‘need to’.

An experience to be savored.

I was back.

My laptop hadn’t gone anywhere. Neither had my paper and pen. And my ideas had aged like a fine wine.

Worrying about all I had to do didn’t get it done. Does it ever? I owe it to the fine art of doing nothing. Or at least, my version of doing nothing.

Undoubtedly, overwhelm will tow me under again. But next time, I plan to make ‘doing nothing’ my go to sooner.

Removing expectations and embracing the fact I don’t always have control over my circumstances liberated me. Put me smack dab in the present moment, where I reveled in its healing power and joy.

“Don’t underestimate the value of Doing Nothing, of just going along, listening to all the things you can’t hear, and not bothering.” A. A. Milne