To do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual.
— Oscar Wilde
The inspiration for this post came on one of my regular lunchtime walks. I was on a call with Fran, sharing the experience of my walk with her and catching up on our respective days. I was looking ahead to the weekend and mentioned how rare it was for me to not have a blog topic ready to work on. Fran thought for a moment, then asked “Do you ever just do nothing?” In that moment, I knew my search for a topic was over. It’s very rare that I take time to “do nothing.” It would be interesting to explore why that is. So here we are. There’s an irony, of course. I’m writing about doing nothing instead of actually doing nothing. Whatever that means.
Doing literally nothing would be akin to placing oneself in a sensory deprivation tank. I know people who’ve done that and found it valuable. I’ve thought of trying it myself, despite the less than restful experiences of Homer and Lisa Simpson. Fran allows herself spells of relative sensory deprivation at home. For twenty or thirty minutes at a time she lies perfectly flat and completely still. No pillows. Eyes closed. Eye mask on. No music playing. No TV. No extraneous sounds of any kind. She says she finds it helpful. I’ve not tried it but I know I’d hate it. Remaining absolutely still isn’t something I find easy at all. Fran doesn’t describe her technique as meditation but there’s some overlap. We used to meditate together regularly. I enjoyed the breath-focused techniques but Fran’s stillness sessions sound more like body scan meditation, which I always found excruciatingly unpleasant.
What else might we mean by “doing nothing”? Does reading in silence count? Possibly. Watching TV or movies? Probably not. Social media? No. Writing blog posts about doing nothing? Now we’re being silly. I asked Fran to expand on the subject.
“We are a culture,” she said, “that doesn’t allow quiet or silence. We constantly fill up any crevices of our lives with social media, TV, music, etc. [We need] sensory deprivation. Recharge. Like turning off one’s phone. And we wonder why we’re depressed or anxious. Eastern cultures do meditation. Even with yoga, one is DOING something.”
For Fran, stillness is key, but I rarely allow myself that kind of quietude. Indeed, I go out of my way to avoid it. I’m not easy in silence. It’s rare for me to sit and focus on a TV show or movie, but the TV will be on in the corner of the room for background sound. If not, I’ll have something playing on my headset. Music, perhaps, or one of the disaster documentaries that I love so much. (My fascination with disaster documentaries and movies deserves a separate blog post some time.) It’s not uncommon for me to have the TV on in the background and something playing on my headset at the same time.
I find background sound soothing. It explains why I’ve always found coffee shops and cafés so conducive to writing. I shared my top writing venues previously in Coffee and Scribbles: My Ten Favourite Writing Cafés. I’ve tried ambient sound apps including White Noise Pro with its range of café soundtracks, but nothing works as well as the real thing. I find speech, whether the sounds of coffee shop conversation or documentary narration, more soothing than music, with a few exceptions.
It’s one thing to find ambient noise relaxing. It’s another to explain why silence, even relative silence, is unsettling to me. I’ve no childhood memories or experiences to relate. The TV was on most of the time when I was growing up and I enjoyed playing records or the radio in my bedroom, but I studied in silence. I didn’t find the silence of the exam hall difficult in any way. I relished the opportunity to demonstrate my knowledge of the subject. I did well in examinations. I recall completing my final exam at university and wondering how I’d fare the rest of my life when my skills and progress would be measured by other means.
More generally, I’m not good at simply being in the moment. In Fran’s words, I “constantly fill up any crevices” of my life with doing. There’s an irony in saying that, because as I’ve explained in such posts as The Joy of Missing Out I don’t “do things and go places” any more. A week away in the UK once a year. Days out when I hire a car. But no grand adventures. No safaris or other trips abroad. No music festivals, sporting events, movies, or visits to the theatre. None of the kind of thing most people enjoy. But I’m constantly doing things, nonetheless.
What kind of thing? I’ve kept a daily diary for the past fifty years. I write less than I used to, largely because I process my thoughts and what’s going on for me in conversation with friends and in my blogging, but it still takes upwards of thirty minutes a day. I usually write my diary late evening, but have it with me most of the time and often journal several times through the day. What else? I have four or five friends I check in with every day or so. One I write to every week. Others I connect with less frequently, but who also mean a great deal. I’m arguably not good at maintaining my boundaries when it comes to the people I care about. But the time I spend with friends — mostly online but occasionally in person — is extraordinarily precious to me.
Blogging is also an important part of my life. I publish a new post every week and the current article is never far from my thoughts. As one of my favourite coffee mugs declares, “I might look like I’m listening to you but in my head I’m thinking about blogging.” I have a t-shirt with the slogan “LIFE IS SHORT. BLOG MORE.” Another that says “EAT. SLEEP. BLOG. REPEAT.” It takes time each week to explore relevant topics, capture my ideas and notes, actually write the post, edit and proofread it, add links and images, and schedule it for publication. Is hare posts on social media and handle feedback and comments. All that takes up a considerable amount of time. Blogging is more than something I do, though. In a very real sense it’s an expression of who I am.
Not everything I do is as worthwhile as my journal, my friends, or my blogging. There are times where I’m not doing anything useful, creative, or purposeful, and yet I’ll fill the gaps rather than allow myself time free from input and distraction. Much of my time on social media is valuable to me, whether that’s sharing my own content or keeping up with my friends and other accounts I’m interested in. There are a number of creators whose content I enjoy. That said, I spend a considerable amount of time online which isn’t adding much value to my life. These are the times where it would be healthier for me to disengage, put the devices aside, and rest. As I’ve suggested to friends on occasion, “Phone down. Eyes closed.” It’s easier to offer advice to others than take it yourself.
There are occasions when I accept the value of quiet time. Ironically, these tend to be when I’m online with Fran. In How Sharing Quiet Moments Can Deepen Your Friendship I described the first time this happened, at Fran’s suggestion. I enjoy such shared stillness but I rarely attempt this when I’m on my own. The most recent occasion was on a rare day trip to the coast. I’d taken my diary and at one point sat to journal overlooking the sea. For the most part, I walked the promenade taking in the sights and sounds. Was that doing nothing? Maybe. Later in the day I had a clearer moment of engagement. As I blogged later, “Without consciously deciding to, I found myself sitting on a bench in the park as maybe a dozen radio-controlled yachts raced back and forth across the water. For the first time in my day I felt fully engaged with what was happening around me.” I’m reminded of Otis Reading’s 1968 hit (Sittin’ On) The Dock of the Bay, released shortly after the singer’s death in a plane crash.
Sittin’ in the morning sun
I’ll be sittin’ when the evenin’ come
Watching the ships roll in
And then I watch ’em roll away again
This sounds like this is a positive advertisement for settling back and letting the world go by. On that same day at the coast, I watched a huge container ship as it made its way to the mouth of the river. But Reading isn’t watching the ships roll in and out in any healthy sense. His inaction is described as wasting time, and there’s a despair in his situation that no amount sitting beside the water is likely to improve.
I left my home in Georgia
Headed for the ’Frisco bay
I’ve had nothing to live for
Look like nothin’s gonna come my waySo I’m just gonna sit on the dock of the bay
Watching the tide roll away
I’m sittin’ on the dock of the bay
Wastin’ time
Sometimes, there’s a need for action rather than inaction. Value in movement rather than stillness, and peril in doing nothing. My situation has never been as dark as the character in Otis’ song, but I wonder what lies behind my uneasiness with stillness. What am I scared of?
I start from the position of wanting to use my time as fully and creatively as possible. Before Fran and I began writing our book, I took inventory of my time. I identified a two hour window in my evenings which I could reasonably anticipate being regularly and reliably available. Without it there’d have been no point beginning such a project. I’ve taken a similar inventory at other times. Despite not having any books on the go, there are very few “free” slots at all. When one opens up I tend to move something else into it. I might reach out to another friend, especially if we’ve not been in touch for a while, or look through my notes for blogging ideas. It won’t always be something urgent or especially worthwhile, but I’ll find something rather than close my eyes and relax. I don’t find relaxation especially relaxing! Filling the spaces also allows me to ignore or postpone less interesting or pleasurable tasks. It’s a strategy for self-distraction. This is perhaps a version of Parkinsons law. Rather than “work expand[ing] so as to fill the time available for its completion” I find other work to fill any gaps.
Having explored my own attitudes to doing nothing, I invited others to share what it means to them. The following are presented with only minor edits for clarity.
My take is that busyness has become an epidemic. It’s a badge of honor, it seems to me. If you’re not busy then maybe you’re lazy or just plain odd. Maybe if people weren’t so busy, they would actually have to face some hard facts about themselves. Maybe it’s a form of running from an unquiet soul or thoughts in their heads. Maybe it’s a fear of being still or really feeling their emotions. Maybe it’s all of the above. Currently, I’m listening to music. Am I really doing much of anything? I don’t know. I suppose music is something to do. If I did nothing in silence, I might lose my mind.
— JenDuring hard times, one of my good friends taught me a mantra that relates to this. “If in doubt, do nothing.” I’ve actually used it successfully many times.
— LouiseI very rarely do nothing because it’s boring ... what’s the point? But some of the things I do now I’m retired could be considered time wasting e.g. playing games on my tablet! P.S. I don’t count quiet reflection or meditation as “doing nothing.”
— FionaI have an unusual take on this. I’m so used to the passive-aggressive question from a senior member of my family of “what have you done on the weekend/time off/holiday, nothing?” that “nothing” has negative connotations. However, recently, I’m very aware that time to decompress is not only beneficial, but necessary. Whether it’s 15 mins just lying on my bed in silence, or half an hour listening to the radio or watching something utterly disposable whilst the boy is at the gym, disconnected from everything else, is good for my soul.
— Karl
I’ll present the final contribution separately as it’s a tad longer:
I recognise myself as doing nothing when I’m asleep. There are times when I can’t do what I want to do and no matter what the alternative is that alternative is always seen as doing nothing and I am temporarily frustrated as well.
No-one ever does nothing they just switch from not doing something to a different form of something they see as doing nothing. Quid pro quo apples and pears?!
The only times I do nothing are when I am either mentally or physically exhausted or both. Then it forces me to stop what I’m doing e.g. writing music or doing posts on the religious/atheist belief forums and then I downscale to laying down on the bed reading. Within that reading session I often fall asleep for short periods eventually waking up completely restored.
Even with that downscale activity I class it as doing nothing because I’m not achieving the actual goal I want to do all the time, and rationalise it out as passive background reading for the main goal I want to do all the time. It is rare I am not happy eventually doing that doing nothing thing even though I do class it as doing nothing. Joyfully giving in to your mental and physical state because you have to comes with a feeling of dignity. You can’t get mad with yourself for too long, you can only get even.
Doing nothing for me is a bad thing because I would like to do whatever I want to do 24/7 but I can’t. But immediately I rationalise this as a good thing because it shows I’m keen to live life no matter how I feel. Rock till you drop!
Life is a rollercoaster that moves up to higher states permanently on a daily basis. The do nothing points are the descent, and the doing something points are the a,scent to the higher place. That is a child to old person, cradle to the grave learning mode which is how I like to live.
Tactically… rocking ‘til I’m dropping is my daily mode of life. Strategically… rock ‘til you drop is living a full life and then death !
— Paul
I’m grateful to everyone who offered their thoughts, ideas, and experience, whether included here or exchanged in personal communication. You’ve given me plenty to think about and expanded my appreciation of what it means to do nothing. I’m unsure how much it will change how I approach my life but it’s made me more aware of how I’m choosing to fill my time. That has to be a good thing. If you missed the opportunity to contribute or have something to add now you’ve read the entire piece, Fran and I would love to hear from you, either in the comments below or via our contact page.
I’ll close with that classic invocation to inactivity, Busy Doing Nothing by songwriters Johnny Burke and Jimmy Van Heusen, as sung by Bing Crosby in the 1949 movie A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.
We’re busy doin’ nothin’ Workin’ the whole day through Tryin’ to find lots of things not to do We’re busy goin’ nowhere Isn’t it just a crime We’d like to be unhappy, but We never do have the time.
Photo by Milan Popovic at Unsplash.
