Learn To Do Nothing

It’s a funny thing, being human. We’re always changing, always evolving – or at least, we feel this constant pressure to be. It’s like an itch you can’t quite scratch, this perpetual hunt for the next thing that promises a bit more satisfaction. The better job, the bigger flat (good luck finding one in London that doesn't cost the earth!), the right relationship, the perfect sourdough starter… you know the drill.

We're all scrabbling, aren't we? Searching for the 'right' path, terrified that stopping for even a moment means stagnating. Becoming irrelevant. Or worse, actually slipping backwards. So, we keep moving. We jump. We commit.

And sometimes? Sometimes, it’s just… wrong. The wrong job drains the life out of you. The wrong city feels alien. The wrong relationship ties you in knots. Even the wrong bloody pizza topping can ruin a Friday night (pineapple, anyone? Just me?). You end up frustrated, kicking yourself, annoyed because you took a leap and landed somewhere you didn’t want to be.

Often, these missteps happen because we didn’t really have a proper chat with ourselves before jumping. We didn't quite know what we were about. And the real kicker? It’s often through making that rubbish decision that we learn something fundamental. "Ah. Turns out, I don't actually thrive in open-plan offices / need eight hours sleep / enjoy minimalist decor." It’s a harsh way to learn, feels like tearing up the script and starting over because the person you thought you were just didn't quite match reality.

Making decisions feels like the main gig, doesn’t it? The sheer weight of it can be overwhelming. Yet society keeps hammering the message: Act! Do! Achieve! Grow! Persevere! And look, there’s truth in it. We do need to grow, learn, engage. We can't learn everything by sitting perfectly still.

But hang on. What if we've overlooked the power of something seemingly simple, something our hyper-productive world tells us to fear? What about the power of… nothing?

I don't mean scrolling-endlessly nothing, or binge-watching-box-sets nothing. I mean proper, quiet stillness. Just you, your mind, and whatever thoughts bubble up. Watching the internal weather patterns. Reflecting on why that passing comment yesterday snagged your attention, or why the particular slant of sunlight through the window suddenly felt important. Noticing the rhythm of your own breathing on the walk to the station. Tiny, everyday moments.

These pauses, these pockets of quiet, aren't voids to be filled. They’re calibration points. They're where you start to hear yourself think, away from the constant external barrage. It’s where you might discover that a surprising amount of the contentment you’re chasing ‘out there’ is actually available ‘in here’, waiting for a bit of quiet attention. If there’s no sense of baseline okay-ness inside, is it any wonder we’re constantly seeking it outside?

Because here’s the thing: often we charge ahead, pour energy into the next big thing, only to get sideswiped later by a wave of… something not quite right. Anxiety, a dull ache of dissatisfaction, maybe even panic. It’s the sudden, jarring realisation that we’ve veered off our own path. And you can’t help but wonder: if you’d just paused, taken a breath before committing, could that wrong turn have been avoided?

There’s a kind of wisdom in stillness. It feels like it strengthens the part of us that manages things – the bit responsible for focus, for not flying off the handle, for seeing things clearly instead of through a fog of impulse or pressure. When you regularly make space for quiet, even just for a few minutes, it’s like you’re building mental muscle. You're enhancing your ability to observe your own thoughts and urges without being immediately swept away by them.

Why is that useful? It creates space. Breathing room between an external demand or an internal impulse ("Must check phone! Must reply now! Must achieve X!") and your response. Space to ask, "Hold on. Is this actually important? Does this align with what I genuinely care about?" What does that shiny goal really mean for me, beyond the surface? Will chasing it bring a sense of purpose, or just more frantic doing?

And here’s the crux: you might not even know what you truly value, deep down, if you never stop moving long enough to listen. You could just be climbing a ladder propped against the wrong building entirely, driven by the noise of what you think you should want, rather than the quiet hum of your own truth.

This inner clarity, this stronger sense of self-direction that seems to grow in stillness, it helps us make fewer, but better, decisions. Choices that feel more authentic, less reactive. Decisions that are less likely to lead to that sinking feeling of having taken a wrong turn, again.

So, next time you have a gap – waiting for the kettle to boil, sitting on the bus, the ad break starts – maybe resist the automatic reach for distraction. Try just being there. Notice your breath. Feel your feet on the floor. Let the world spin for a moment without you frantically trying to keep up.

You might start to tune into something quieter, something more steady within yourself. And maybe, just maybe, that inner compass, once you learn to listen to it, will guide you towards choices that bring a deeper sense of rightness, a more lasting satisfaction than the next frantic chase ever could.

Something to mull over, perhaps?