I’ve been thinking about what to do when you have nothing to do.
That sounds like it should be simple. A free afternoon. No one needing anything. Nowhere to be. Just: time.
I stood in my kitchen last week and felt it – that strange, uncomfortable blankness. And within about three minutes, I was already reaching for something useful. Tidying. Planning. Sorting the car out. Drafting a newsletter.
The pull was automatic. Almost like a reflex.
I stopped myself. But it took effort.
Because for most of our lives, being needed was the structure. Work, children, parents, partners, problems. There was always something. And we were always the ones holding it together.
Rest wasn’t really rest. It was recovery before the next round.
My mum was different. She knew how to simply be. She’d make a cup of tea, sit by the window, and read her book. Watch the birds come into the garden. Go and see a friend just to have a proper chat – not to solve anything, not to help with anything. Just to be together, chat, laugh.
She wasn’t anxious. She was at peace.
I used to watch her and not quite understand it. Now I think she had something I’m still learning.
Since she died, I’ve been practising. Sitting with a coffee without reaching for my phone. Meeting a friend and having that chat and laughing – not multitasking in my head. I’ve just finished a wonderful book by Rory Stewart and I have my next one waiting. I’m hoping to start it today.
It’s harder than it sounds. Especially when you’ve been needed for so long that stillness feels suspicious. Almost not allowed. Like you should be doing something.
But here’s what I’m coming to understand: reconnecting with yourself doesn’t happen in a dramatic moment. It happens in small, quiet experiments. An afternoon with no agenda. A walk with no destination. A morning when you let things be slow.
You have to practise wanting things again.
It’s a skill. And it’s one we can absolutely rebuild.
It starts with one honest question:
What do I actually feel like doing right now – one thing just for me?
This week’s practice:
Schedule two hours for yourself this week. Put it in your diary right now, before you read another word.
When those two hours arrive:
- Do not clean.
- Do not plan.
- Do not improve anything.
Just notice what happens in your body when you stop being useful. Notice the pull toward productivity. Notice what stillness actually feels like for you.
Then write one sentence: How do I feel when I stop?
Let’s do this. Everyday, living our own lives.
With love and best wishes always,
Susy