Doing Nothing vs. Not Doing Anything

And being bad at both

I have a friend whose favorite thing is lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. Which is to say, her favorite thing is Doing Nothing. I am simultaneously astounded, confounded, amused, and jealous–not just of her ability to Do Nothing, but her thorough enjoyment of it. 

That’s because I am of the opposite ilk. Doing Nothing sounds like smoked puréed awfulness to me. I prefer Doing Something, all the time. (I mean, it’s “Adventure Hat,” not “Relaxation Hat.”) I always want to run around, create stuff, explore the outdoors, play a sport, go see something I haven’t seen before, research a new place or topic, yada yada.    

However, I have learned that Doing Nothing is something. And Not Doing Anything is a different something. And Doing Something is yet another something altogether.

If you’re a fellow adventurer, you may be interested almost exclusively in Doing Something over the other two. But there’s value in all three. Even if—like me—most of it feels unnatural or uncomfortable.

There’s a difference

It’s important to clarify the difference between Doing Nothing and Not Doing Anything, because despite initial appearances, they are dramatically different from one another.

Doing Nothing is a conscious act; it’s not the absence of Doing Something, but the opposite. It’s about conscious stillness. You must remove and actively ignore distractions, be they internal or external. It’s quite active, actually. And it’s a discipline. People who are naturally gifted at the magnificent art of Doing Nothing are rare birds indeed. 

By contrast, Not Doing Anything requires a conscious or subconscious purposelessness. You have to put away your mental or literal to-do list and find something to do that is not anything of note. Eg, playing video games all day is solid Not Doing Anything, whereas hosting a LAN tournament with pals is very much Doing Something. 

There are lots of ways of Not Doing Anything. If someone asks you, “What did you do today?” and your answer is, “Oh nothing really, just kinda hung out,” you’ve got it. 

People who have a predilection for Not Doing Anything are far more common than those who are adept at Doing Nothing. That’s because it requires no energy, planning, or creativity. People who are not chronically anxious and don’t have high control needs typically find themselves Not Doing Anything quite naturally.  

Things that are Not Doing Anything tend to be relaxing and restorative for most people. Putting your feet up and watching an empty action movie. Sipping whiskey while you put together a jigsaw puzzle with the game on the TV in the background. Reading a book while lounging in a hammock somewhere. Sitting around shooting the breeze with friends, with no agenda and nowhere in particular to be. You could describe Not Doing Anything as the art of being unproductive.  

Counter examples: doomscrolling on social media, revenge procrastination, getting drunk alone while thinking about every stupid thing you said in middle school. Those are not Not Doing Anything things. Those are ways to avoid Doing Something, Doing Nothing, or both. 

Great discomfort

As part of my own personal Great Resignation, I was advised by a mental health professional to try Not Doing Anything as well as Doing Nothing. It turns out that I have pathological aversions to both. 

Take this anecdote, for example: In service of learning how to Do Nothing, my therapist asked me to imagine being grounded in nature. So I imagined floating down a river. As gently and kindly as possible, she pointed out that floating is literally constant movement, which is the opposite of what she was asking me to do. She meant something more akin to putting your bare feet in the grass, and allowing yourself to feel pulled by gravity into a deep, stable, firm connection with the planet itself. 

Meditation is a form of Doing Nothing. I have learned that (this type of) meditation is not thinking very very hard about something, but actively not thinking about anything at all. You plant yourself somewhere in a comfortable position, close your eyes, and just… focus… on…. your… breath. Have a little stray thought? Delete, return to your breath. Thinking about how much time is left on the timer? Delete, return to your breath. Etc.

I find that this activity has a tendency to induce panic. It feels a little bit like dying, I think? 

You may start learning to meditate in short amounts of time, like three minutes. For me, at first, this felt like an eternity. I’m used to thoughts, images, and sound racing through my head at a million miles an hour all day long. The act of not thinking any of those things is work. Ugh. After many tries, though, I worked up to a whopping…five minutes. And I’m pretty sure I cheated at least once or twice by checking the timer.

I have a similarly dour attitude towards relaxation activities such as yoga. I like yoga in theory. It’s calm. There’s a lot of stretching. You spend a lot of time laying on the floor. But in practice, it feels like actual torture. Inhale slowly…slooooowly…so slowly you aren’t getting enough oxygen to perform necessary body functions. Sloooooowly. Good. Gooood. Now exhale even more slowly. If you pass out, you’re doing this correctly.

I am also trying out Not Doing Anything, which for me is more like an act of passive resistance. A letting go. An...unclenching. It’s having a clear-calendar day, and not putting anything on the calendar, and losing track of time, and not caring about what did or did not get done that day. 

I find that this, too, can induce panic. BUT WHAT IF, LIKE, MY TAXES ARE DUE OR SOMETHING! OH SHOOT, MY TAXES ARE DUE! SEE, NOT DOING ANYTHING IS DANGEROUS, BECAUSE IT MAKES YOU FORGET TO SEND IN YOUR TAX STUFF AND NOW YOU’RE GOING TO DIE (Err, wait, I’m not going to die, it’s just—), YES, ACTUALLY DIE, NEVER AGAIN WILL I LET MY GUARD DOWN AND NOT DO ANYTHING. 

Old habits

A big part of my problem is that I’m hyper vigilant. It’s an old childhood survival tactic. I was constantly running mental checks to make sure I’d followed all the rules, that I’d not offended anyone, that I didn’t do anything that would make anyone angry, that I didn’t leave myself vulnerable to a bully attack, whatever. 

In addition to that, I found that when I achieved–worked hard, practiced hard, studied hard, created things–that’s when I got positive feedback.

Together, this feedback and the hyper vigilance very much made up…me: anxious, high-achieving, workaholic, tired, never relaxing, always moving. 

That personality type is generally praised because it’s productive. People are obsessed with productivity so much that it’s widely considered a virtue. Ever notice how people love to tell you how busy they are or how many hours they’ve put in that week? I used to do this. But the further away I’ve gotten from workaholism, the more grotesque that whole idea sounds to me.

Among the very worst examples is tech executive Marissa Mayer, formerly of Google and Yahoo!, who infamously espoused 130-hour work weeks. She said she did them regularly when she was helping turn Google into Google. At least an all-nighter once per week, strategic shower times, etc. 

STRATEGIC! SHOWER! TIMES! 

That is not a good thing. It’s not something to be proud of. Quite the opposite.  

It reminds me of a teacher I had in middle school. He was a straight-backed war veteran with a haircut you could set your watch to. But, he would tell you, back in his service days he was a rough fella. He smoked four packs a day. One of my fellow 8th graders–who at that point already had first-hand knowledge of how many cigarettes were in a pack–asked him how that was even possible. “It was difficult,” the teacher said. “You have to get up a couple of times during the night to smoke.” 

“I do not recommend this,” he admonished the room of children. 

I see essentially no difference between a 130-hour work week and smoking four packs a day. Both are horrifically toxic in multiple ways. Both are horrendous for your health. Neither are anything to aspire to.

The notion that extreme productivity is a good thing is destructive. It indicates that you have value only (or primarily) according to what you do, not who you are. It means that your base value as a human being is zero. It also means that any time you stop and rest—that is, lose productivity—you are actively losing value as a human being. 

It’s not a sustainable way to exist. It’s like living in water; sometimes you swim, but usually you’re just treading water and barely keeping your head above the surface. And if you stop struggling, you drown. Rats in a bucket.

Every time you point, there are three fingers pointing at yourself

As much as it pains me to admit it, my inability to perform Doing Nothing and also Not Doing Anything extends from the vestiges of my past workaholism and worship of productivity. I lived and died according to how productive I was (or felt I was). Sitting still meant my value as a person slowly leaked away, which is to say, it meant a slow death.

And so, my instinct to always be Doing Something? I had to examine that. 

Here’s what I learned: I came by my desire to explore, play, and create honestly. It’s who I am. It’s what fills me. [Phew]. But when it’s mixed with a toxic view of human value, high anxiety, and fear, it becomes tainted. Maladaptive. And so the trick is to peel away the old worldview, like cutting out a tumor. 

The goal is balance. I can honor the part of myself that lives for Doing Something, while allowing myself to rest by Not Doing Anything, and occasionally performing the restorative, centering discipline of Doing Nothing. All of those should feel good. 

I’m still fairly bad at Doing Nothing, though I have become much more proficient at Not Doing Anything. And as I improve, it makes every Doing Something that much more fulfilling.