The last days of summer flirt with me; every morning I awake to the most unwelcome question, "what will I do with my remaining time off?" That this questioning comes from within myself, makes it only worse. Why isn't it ok (I ask of myself) to do nothing?
I've always had trouble with the concept of doing nothing--taking walks, having a day at the beach, browsing bookstores, and reading trashy magazines (more on this one later); In fact, these relaxing activities aren't nothing at all.
A few weeks ago I went to Omega Institute in Rhinebeck. Numerous interesting workshops are offered, however, you can also go there to do nothing. I chose the latter; I ate delicious and healthy food, hung out at the cafe that has a deck overlooking the expansive 200 acres of greenery, took one wild and crazy dance class, and read a lightweight novel. I came home refreshed. Yet, while there, I tottered at times on the edge of boredom--not realizing at the moment that boredom can be ok. In fact, necessary.
During the Academic year I teach from four to five classes per semester. Teaching is like being back in school as a student--there's always the feeling of something left undone, doing nothing is a very guilty pleasure. And so, these last days of summer are my time to relish the luxury of my choices: take a yoga class? Zumba? work on a story? read another lightweight book? (I'm desperately praying for a day I can allow myself to remain in pajamas and have a pretend sick day.)
My difficulty with taking breaks stems from my drive to have tangible things to show for my time on this earth--I yearn for accolades. And in my psychological framework, praise equals achievement, even it's for doing the laundry.
Today I will battle the Demon of Nothing.
On a completely unrelated note, trashy magazines and trash TV (which I read and watch in an effort to do nothing.) I've been haunted this week by the suicide of a reality TV character's husband. Beyond the obvious tragedy of this man's decision, what irks me is how frivolous so many of us are in revealing intimacies and flaws of others, without considering how this will affect them.
There's a note to myself in there, a gentle push to send my writing life in new directions.
Followers
