The Fine Art of Doing Nothing

Relaxation always stresses me out. For me, it’s not a simple process of stopping and letting the mind and body rest. It is a complex emotion filled with one part guilt, two parts FOMO (Fear Of Missing Out) and one part anxiety that there is something I haven’t done, which I should be doing instead of lying comatose on the sofa.

My partner, on the other hand, can lie very still, soak in the moment, watch an invisible breeze tap dance above his head and just be. He can spend hours doing nothing worthwhile and emerge with the same triumphant grin he gives after a ten-kilometre jog.

According to him, it’s very important to spend a little time in a pause every day. Apparently, stress can kill brain cells and even prevent the creation of new ones. No wonder, on some days, I feel there are parts of my brain missing.

I even approach holidays with a maniacal gleam. A month before the vacation, I spend hours researching sights, food, places to stay and experiential must-dos. I read blogs, books, forums, anything to glean that rare bit of information only an insider could have.

Once we get to our intended destination, I whip out my list and proceed to tick off what we have to do with the earnestness of a workaholic. Needless to say, after every holiday, we need another one to recover.

I ask my partner when he takes an undeserved break, whether he feels even the tiniest iota of guilt? He shakes his head with puppy-like glee. Racked by envy, I decide to try it. I grandly announce, ‘I am going to relax for an hour’. He nods, not looking away from that interesting bit of nothing in front of his nose.

The first few minutes I wonder whether I am doing it right. Is there a technique to unwind? I am told off with a mild irritation to not over-think it. I try again. After two minutes, I begin composing a list of all the things I have to do in the house. By the seventh minute, I am planning next week’s groceries. By the twelfth, I am on a roll.

I figure out what to buy my aunt for her birthday. Compose three work emails. Calculate the cost of shifting cities. My diminishing brain cells even resolve the plot of a short story I am working on.

I don’t notice the time fly. My partner gently shakes my shoulder and tells me my hour of downtime is up. He  then asks with the curiosity of a scientist examining a lab rat, ‘Did you enjoy the relaxation?’. ‘Of course’, I affirm with the conviction of the newly-converted.  He nods approvingly, pleased with my inner change as I complete the rest of the sentence in my head. ‘Of course, I got so much work done.’

Still Figuring It Out’ a funny, sad, questioning take on adulthood will appear every Saturday on newsable.com. Arathi Menon is the author of Leaving Home With Half a Fridge, a memoir published by Pan Macmillan. She tweets at https://twitter.com/unopenedbottle. The views expressed here are her own.