It’s Friday afternoon and I am stressed as [censored]. This week, we launched a new podcast. As the team’s designated QCer, I have to proof every episode before it airs, and as webmaster I’m responsible for writing up time-stamped show notes for our website—both of which hefty additions to my weekly workload.
Next week’s episode drops on Wednesday morning, which means proofing and show notes have to be done by Tuesday. But Tuesday is the day of my flight to Thailand—I’m spending a month with my parents—which means this work will need to be done on Monday, which is the day I have to prep our newsletter for sending, proof all social posts for the week, and complete all the other tasks I didn’t get to this week because the first episodes of the podcast ate up more time than expected.
Add to that my own newsletter—the first draft of which will require up to two hours on Monday, then up to an hour every day to revise until it’s word-perfect on Friday morning—and my memoir—for which I’m on a 21-day writing streak. If that’s not enough, on Thursday I’ll receive a subtitles translation project that I’ve theoretically got four days to work on, but practically only three because I’ve made plans to catch up with friends for most of Friday.
And then there’s the long list of tasks I need to get done while in Thailand, that I’ve got to get a start on as soon as I arrive so there’s time for everything to process. And I’d also like to actually get some face time with my parents.
Next week is looming like an avalanche that threatens to bury me under a layer of tasks ten metres deep. Getting as much done this afternoon as I could feels like a lifeline I should grab.
But I won’t. Instead, I’m going to do nothing.
Doing nothing
It’s now Sunday morning, and next week is looking a lot less menacing than it did a day and a half ago.
I was tempted to use Friday afternoon to clear the week’s remaining tasks. But the builders were in to install a fire door for our apartment, which meant loud banging and drilling every few minutes, and I could feel the week’s fatigue weighing on me—I’d worn out my brain getting the podcast ready for launch.
So I did nothing.
I noted down all my pending tasks, set reminders for myself for next week, wrote my weekly work journal, then put my laptop away.
I spent the afternoon reading the excellent The Psychology of Money with the workmen clanging away in the background. Then did a couple of The Guardian’s Quick crossword puzzles with my partner.
Once the builders were gone, we ordered pizza and watched a movie on Netflix.
On Saturday, apart from the daily quick checking of work messages in the morning to make sure no fires needed putting out, I did nothing else work-related. I finished The Psychology of Money (highly recommended), got a 90-minute hot oil massage, had a romantic dinner with my partner.
I have done zero work, but by stepping away I’ve given myself the headspace to formulate, in the background, a plan of attack:
The podcast is the only task for which I can’t predict how long I’ll need because I’m new to it, so I need to keep as much of Monday free for it as possible.
As a result, I should get the first draft of my newsletter ready before Monday. I should also ditch the topic I was planning on writing about (the power of constructive feedback) because I haven’t had time to think about it, and instead write what’s on my mind (hence what you’re reading). It will get done more quickly, and putting my jumbled thoughts on paper will help me process them. Win-win.
There’s no good reason to sacrifice my sanity to keep my 21-day streak of writing my memoir going. I’m going to take a few weeks’ break and send what I have (a prologue and two chapters) to my first-round reviewers. If I have time, I’ll do one more round of revision. If not, I’ll send it off as is. First drafts aren’t meant to be perfect.
With my newsletter and book out of the way, I should have time to prep for my subtitles project and get more done on Thursday when it lands, so I can enjoy time with friends on Friday without it hanging over me.
Not all of the tasks left over from this week are urgent. I can focus only on what needs to get done next week, leave the rest for when I’m no longer drowning.
I am loath to work on a Sunday—I’ve religiously kept it a laptop-free day these past couple of years. But if two hours putting together a first draft for next week’s newsletter will save my sanity on Monday, it’s a price worth paying.
So I’m going to do thirty minutes of guided meditation—a practice I’ve long extolled the virtues of and regularly use as a tool to de-stress—then get writing.
Once I’m done, I’ll put my laptop away and have a hot bubble bath. I’m keen to try the Lush bath bombs I bought from Seoul. Lavender-scented with conditioning—a luxurious way to while away a Sunday afternoon.
The virtue of doing nothing
The idea of “doing nothing” as a virtue isn’t new to me. Last year, I wrote a newsletter arguing that doing nothing is the best response in a wider variety of situations than you might expect. We’re wired to act and react—action feels productive (good) while inaction seems lazy (bad). But often it’s inaction that’s actually more constructive.
What I didn’t say in that piece, though, is that doing nothing could also be the best course of (in)action when we’re stressed and overwhelmed with work, or even life.
When we’re swamped, the temptation is to keep going, to line up one task after another, to do whatever it takes to keep our head above water.
But what I’ve found trying to do just that for years and years is, the work never gets done. There’s always more to do and all you end up accomplishing is burning yourself out.
The more stressed you are, the more value there is in stopping. Nothing good comes from fire-fighting 24/7. You need time to step away, de-stress, do nothing for a while.
Doing nothing seems counterproductive, but is in fact key to getting clarity on what you need to be doing and when, not to mention saving your sanity.
Putting your work away for an afternoon, going for a walk, having dinner with a friend, sleeping on it, whatever “doing nothing” looks like to you—these all give us the time and headspace we need to function. This should come as no surprise—even machines need downtime—but when everyone around you is hustling late into the night and over weekends, it’s easy to forget how important rest is.
It is now Wednesday morning. I’m rewriting half of the first draft of this newsletter from Sunday (and significantly improving it). My book chapters have been emailed to my reviewers. All my urgent podcast tasks are done. I’m clear on what else I need to get done today to get through the week without sacrificing time with my parents and friends.
I’m feeling a lot more sane than I did on Friday. And I attribute 100% of that to doing nothing.
What do you think?
This week’s issue is a bit of a brain dump as I navigate this crazy first week back in Thailand. Now let me turn it over to you:
How might “doing nothing” help you in your life right now?
What has your experience of “doing nothing” been? Has it helped or hurt you in the past? Please hit “reply” or leave a comment—I read every response and I’d love to hear from you. If you want, share this with someone who may need to “do nothing” more often.
Until next Friday… Stay thoughtful,
Val
Photo by James Forbes on Unsplash