Spaniards with their siesta have it right. Why I’m trying to turn off my 24/7 life | Opinion
How do you sit still and do nothing? Can you flip off a productivity switch? Is occasional indolence a trait to nurture? Must busyness be downgraded?
Asking for a friend.
She has lived most of her life paying homage to the twin gods of efficiency and output. She’s studied hundreds of articles on how to maximize time and happily adopted tech that promises to increase performance. Now, however, she’s tired, and that fatigue isn’t just physical, either.
Advancing age has tweaked her priorities, forcing her to recognize that running from one activity to another does not guarantee satisfaction. Or happiness. Or even competency.
OK, I confess. I’m asking for me.
I’ve arrived at a juncture in life that has me questioning long-held tenets about how I should be spending my time. Busyness — that sense of always having something important to do — isn’t what I once thought it was. I’ve concluded that I don’t know how to just be. I pack my hours with both the essential and the trivial, heedlessly racing on that hamster wheel known as 21st century living.
I grew up in a family where idleness was frowned upon. If my mother spotted me doing nothing — sitting empty-handed and empty-headed — she would quickly find something that needed doing. And there was always something to do. Cleaning. Washing. Tidying. Studying. I never learned to stop.
Both my parents were workaholics. As am I. Then my children learned it from me. It’s an inherited disorder. I’ve often joked that “INDUSTRIOUS” could be the one-word description common to all our headstones. But without a counter-balance to this behavior, such energetic zealousness isn’t healthy.
We’re hardly unique. American culture prizes the act of being busy. A full calendar is a status symbol. Even if we’re simply running in place, the pretense of busyness is enough to give us direction, purpose.
Learn from the Japanese, the Italians, the Danes
Not so elsewhere. The Japanese, for example, have a word for doing nothing: boketto. Italians have a melodic phrase: dolce far niente, or the sweetness of doing nothing. And the Danish practice niksen, which is doing nothing on purpose. (Actually it’s doing nothing with intention.)
Can you think of a single word in English that matches this concept? Me neither.
I read an article a few weeks back that touted the benefits of “downshifting.” The writer eloquently extolled the virtues of refusing to fill every waking minute with a task. She described the experience as a practice, much like some people talk about meditation or mindfulness. The benefits, especially to mental health, were many, she wrote.
Her conclusion was particularly compelling. I had just heard a news story on the radio about a sizable majority of Americans feeling very stressed. No surprise there, considering all the craziness we’ve collectively endured in the past two years. The good news is that we have a way to minimize both outside stressors and those we impose on ourselves in the pursuit of scratching items off our list.
Reset. Relax. Slow down.
Doing nothing helps us deal with the inevitable pressures of modern living. Letting go of the to-do tyranny, even for a while, can be like a mini-vacation for the mind and body.
Sounds therapeutic, no? Unfortunately, it’s easier said than done.
I’ve been trying to hit pause for about 20 to 30 minutes every morning, before the start of my work day, and have discovered I’m terrible at it. Seriously terrible. Sitting in my backyard patio alone, my foot jiggles, my hands clench, and my mind races to where it shouldn’t. I develop a full-blown case of the heebie-jeebies. Instead of accepting the soothing rustle of the breeze and the cheery chirping of birds, I worry I’m “wasting” time.
Can one be addicted to the buzz and bustle of our 24/7 lifestyle? Is dolce far niente hopeless for Americans?
Asking for a friend.
Ana Veciana-Suarez writes about family and social issues. Email her at avecianasuarez@gmail.com or visit her website anavecianasuarez.com. Follow @AnaVeciana.
