Why we need to do nothing
It’s the curse of our generation. I feel like I need to fill every last minute of my day with productive activity, or I go into a death spiral of shame for not maximizing my output, which I’ve of course tied to my self-worth. I’ve set up the false dichotomy of productivity and laziness, so for every second I don’t strive to accomplish, I fear I will slip into ruin.
On the other hand, I know it’s in what I call the void, those times when I’m doing nothing and my mind is open rather than stuck in a task-mastering tunnel vision, that my best ideas arise.
This is known as the “shower principle,” which I suspect is because our few minutes of showering each morning is the only time we don’t redirect our full attention to something or someone else, which makes me a bit sad to consider.
I strive to fill the void with my hopes, dreams, and fantasies. It should be a place where I don’t care if my mind goes in weird, unheard-of directions. It is vulnerable and uncomfortable, bringing to the surface all the wonderings I push out of my mind throughout the rest of the day to focus on more “important” things.
I can fill the void in so many insidious ways. Although I have prided myself on not succumbing to hours of Netflix binge-watching or Instagram scrolling (most of the time), I have replaced this with compulsive book-reading (and Medium-reading) or email-checking. I congratulate myself for filling my time in such a wholesome, productive way, which only reinforces these habits.
And when my hands fail to provide distraction, my mind itself fills the void with its own junk. It will start with what it thinks is most useful: keeping track of the bills that I’ve paid, mulling over a conversation with someone, or calculating how long it’s been since I last called my parents, before devolving into even less relevant topics.
These are things that don’t need to live in my brain, but I’ve thought about them so much that they’re at the top of the metaphorical junk mail pile. I know it’s gotten bad when even my dreams are about mundane things, like forgetting to do some semi-important task, and I wake up in a cold sweat.
Embracing idleness isn’t a new idea. There are plenty of people already extolling the importance of meditation, boredom, and aimlessness, often citing a scientific study in which people would rather shock themselves than be alone with their thoughts.
But they don’t answer the most important question: what’s the solution to all of this? In my case, I am so adept at self-distraction that I have to actively cultivate the void. Not to mention, there are few places in modern society where I can do so with little temptation.
The most experience I had with the void was during a summer internship in rural New England. With no friends and no car, I spent much of my free time wondering what to do next after forcing myself to eliminate the worst of my distractions. I rarely had any pending tasks or events to attend, and felt uncomfortable about the amount of time on my hands when I wasn’t always rushing somewhere.
The thoughts and feelings that welled up in the void were so powerful that they nearly swallowed me whole. They brought unprocessed past events and insecurities to the surface, making me restless and anxious.
I felt my world come crashing down, ending my longest relationship and beginning to doubt my career path. Dreams of travel and writing rooted themselves more firmly in my heart. I undid a lot of my former thought patterns and altered my goals and values. I began to see the world differently.
I know I would not be on the path I am today without that mental and emotional gutting, but it took a lot of anguish to get here. On the other hand, if I had followed the dopamine reward of constant productivity, I may have accomplished a lot on a path less well-suited for me.
That’s all well and good, but let’s not forget I was forced to experience the void and have since failed to recreate this loosely scheduled lifestyle. Back then I had burdened myself with fewer goals and responsibilities, so there were fewer things I would miss out on by doing nothing. And who would choose to experience discomfort if they don’t have to?
The only potential solution I can offer to fellow type-As is this: you may have to schedule your time in the void, starting in small enough increments so that you don’t spiral into a full-fledged panic from the inactivity. It may seem counterintuitive to formally create a space for it, but on the other hand, leaving the time slot open means it will be quickly filled by either a commitment or a distraction.
There are also a few natural places to cultivate it, such as in waiting rooms or on the train. Of course, it takes great mental fortitude to not pull out my phone, the near universal source of distractions, at these times.
But the void is not useful if it’s just daydreaming not followed by action. As long as my stories and fantasies have stayed in my head, they have never manifested themselves in my life. The moment I write them down, begin to flesh them out, or create a plan for accomplishing them, they become more and more real by degrees.
But the most important reason for experiencing the void is not that it results in better ideas or better work. That’s only my accomplishment-focused mind speaking. I value it because it shows me who I truly am, who I could become, if only I stopped for a few minutes and listened to myself.
