Living Langorously

Surviving in a far too busy culture

A confession and a bit of a joke: I’ve always been more of a shirker than a worker. Not that I haven’t been a hardworking professional and father/grandfather, but I use that joke when others find me idling away my time watching the birds in the garden or meditating on the porch. In fact, I’m supposed to be working right now, raking and reseeding the lawn, but instead, I’m relaxing in the afternoon sun on the porch listening to birds twitter in the nearby hedge and writing these words. I’ll get to the lawn soon, honest! 😊

I coined the term “contemplative personality” years ago to describe who I am at heart and why I am different. As a middle-aged child and teenager, I fell in love with nature, hiking all over the rolling hills of farmland and forest where we lived. Every weekend and sunny afternoon after school I escaped to the outdoors with my faithful German Shepherd, Sugar, trotting along at my side. We swam in the pond, and she chased jackrabbits across the grassy meadows (but never caught any). The brown and white killdeers often raced and shrieked erratically ahead of us on the trail as we tramped across the land as far as we could go in an hour or two. In the shade of the trees, I’d stop to listen and watch sparrows and finches flit among the live oaks and digger pines. Blue jays hopped among the tree branches squawking their complaints at our invasion of their sanctuary. We waded into the ankle or knee-deep creeks, peering through clear cold creek water at crawdads, or sat on the bank, observing the water skippers sliding across the top of the water. It was an idyllic life for a kid, and one that taught me to see and think in a way well known to exploring pioneers like John Muir, but less known to residents of our frenzied modern life.

It was an escape for me from a society where I found no comfort, social life where I felt totally awkward. I also found in contemplation of nature that my mind was at peace for hours at a time compared to the emotional discontent or even distress I felt at home and at school.

These times of wandering and watching the harmonious beauty of the natural world were and still are my refuge, my escape from the burnout pace that has increased decade by decade in modern American society. The maniacal busyness of our culture, so focused on being constantly productive, leaves little time for introspection or inner peace. But we can still carve out small respites in our day or our week if it’s important to us. And I believe it’s not only important but essential to our sanity to find idle time in our week, time to do nothing but just be.

My thoughts about mindful resting and contemplation are inspired by two meaningful articles I read today. The first is an intellectual reflection on taking time out of a busy life for letting the mind and body rest and enjoy freedom from any particular purpose—from work and even from organized leisure. In “The Art of Lying Fallow,” Maria Popova posits that humans need regular times to do nothing, like the fields that grow our crops and need to rest from production every few years. She quotes liberally from psychoanalyst Masud Khan as she explains the human need for “dwelling in a particular state of being beyond the realm of our compulsive doing.”

Popova points out that it isn’t just work that overloads us but also overplanned leisure. So many of us face near-exhaustion not just from work but from what are supposed to be fun activities. We race to and fro to our kids’ various sports and play dates and subject ourselves to overly ambitious vacation itineraries into which we cram something to see or do every minute. Even ordinary days off are full of home maintenance, barbecues, sports, and binge watching the latest Netflix series—constant distraction—so we never have to encounter… ourselves. Popova’s prescription is a lifestyle change “to begin to nourish ourselves” with frequent unscheduled times of doing nothing when we can be ourselves apart from all our compulsive organized productivity and activity.

As a perfect segue from Popova’s prescription, I read Lindsey Melden’s ”Doing Nothing,” a paean to moments of respite from the busy life. Lindsey describes the often overwhelming activity of a mom raising a busy family—”washing and folding to do, phone calls to make and appointments to schedule (and then schlep them to), floors to sweep and groceries to buy… a digital landscape that is constantly fighting for my attention with news and updates and notifications.” Is it any wonder she and all of us need a refuge?

She finds it in the recommendations of Jenny Odell’s book, How to Do Nothing. She notes how Odell describes the added stress in the age of cell phones because of the constant hammering we get from ads and social media. She quotes Odell on the “mind-numbing stream of consciousness which leaves me overwhelmed and exhausted.” Lindsey’s escape (and mine) is walking, to “put my feet on the real earth, lift my eyes and find birds and trees and clouds.” She goes on to offer other pastimes whose only purpose is to renew and refresh: reading poetry, brewing sun tea, strolling through museums and gardens, making food while listening to music, and “always bird-watching.”

My own inclinations are much the same: hiking in the woods, sitting by water, watching the small birds and hummingbirds in the garden, reading and meditating in the warm sun on the porch, meandering through antique stores and bookstores, and sipping coffee or tea at the outside tables of coffee shops. Anything that lets the world pass me by while I just enjoy and observe.

What do you do to stop the constant busyness that drives and commands our hours? Do you have a respite time when you can do nothing? If not, maybe it’s time to make space for quietude here and there.

It is not just idleness to rest from constantly working. We need time to watch passing clouds, listen to a stream gurgle, and delight in the playful antics of birds in the garden. We need time away from all the structure and activity so we can discover who we truly are at the deepest levels.

And in case your practical mind was pestering you about it, my lawn seeding and feeding did get done—but I took my time getting to it!