I’m sitting here looking at a cold cup of coffee and a to-do list that is, frankly, a bit insulting. It’s one of those lists that starts with “wake up” just so I can cross something off immediately. We’ve all been there, right? That nagging feeling that if we aren’t squeezing every ounce of potential out of every waking minute, we’re somehow failing at the business of being alive. It’s exhausting. And if I’m being honest, I think it’s making us all a little bit dull.
We’ve become obsessed with “optimization.” We optimize our sleep with rings and watches. We optimize our commutes with podcasts at 1.5x speed. We even optimize our relaxation—I’ve seen people schedule “spontaneity” into their digital calendars. It’s weird. It’s like we’ve forgotten that the best parts of life usually happen in the gaps, the messy, unscripted moments where nothing in particular is supposed to be happening.
The Cult of the “Side Hustle” and the Death of Hobbies
There was a time, not that long ago, when you could just be bad at something. You could pick up a guitar, fumble through three chords for six months, and just enjoy the vibration of the strings. Now? If you start a hobby, the first question people ask is, “Are you going to sell those?” or “When are you starting the YouTube channel for this?”
Everything has to have a return on investment. If it doesn’t make money, or build a “personal brand,” or make us “fitter,” we struggle to justify the time spent. But here’s the thing: hobbies are supposed to be for us. They are supposed to be the things we do that have no purpose other than the doing of them. When we turn our passions into “content” or “hustles,” we strip away the very thing that made them restorative in the first place.
I remember trying to learn watercolor painting a few years ago. I wasn’t good. My trees looked like green blobs and my rivers looked like blue streaks of sadness. But for thirty minutes, I wasn’t a “professional” anything. I was just a person with some pigment and water. Then, I had this urge to post it online. I thought about the lighting. I thought about the caption. Suddenly, it wasn’t a hobby anymore; it was a task. I haven’t picked up the brush since. That’s the cost of optimization. It turns joy into work.
The “Boredom Gap” and Why We’re Scared of It
Have you noticed that we don’t have “nothing” time anymore? Think about the last time you stood in line at a grocery store or waited for a friend at a cafe. What did you do? You probably pulled out your phone. I do it too. It’s a reflex. We’ve become allergic to the quiet space between activities.
We fill every gap with a scroll, a swipe, or a notification. We’re terrified of being bored. But boredom is actually where the good stuff happens. It’s the soil that creativity grows in. When your mind has nothing to chew on, it starts to wander. It starts to make weird connections. It starts to remember things you forgot you knew.
The Phone as a Safety Blanket
It’s not just about distraction; it’s about comfort. Being alone with your thoughts can be uncomfortable. Thoughts can be loud. They can be inconvenient. They might remind you that you’re unhappy with your job, or that you miss someone, or that you’re not sure what you’re doing with your life. So, we pull out the phone to drown out the silence.
But when we drown out the silence, we also drown out the sparks. Those tiny little “aha!” moments don’t stand a chance against a feed of strangers’ vacation photos. We are trading our inner life for a constant stream of external noise, and then we wonder why we feel so drained at the end of the day.
The Myth of the 24-Hour Hustle
I’m tired of the “grind” culture. You know the one—the influencers telling you to wake up at 4:00 AM, take a cold plunge, write ten pages of a novel, and hit the gym before the sun is even up. It sounds impressive on a social media post, but in reality? It’s a recipe for burnout and a very lonely existence.
Human beings aren’t machines. We aren’t designed to operate at peak efficiency for sixteen hours a day. We have seasons. We have rhythms. Some days, I am a powerhouse of productivity. I can answer fifty emails, clean the house, and cook a three-course meal. Other days? I’m lucky if I manage to put on matching socks. And that has to be okay.
We’ve internalized this idea that rest is a reward for hard work. We tell ourselves, “If I finish this project, then I can sit down.” But rest isn’t a reward; it’s a requirement. It’s a biological necessity. You wouldn’t tell your car, “If you drive 500 miles, then I’ll give you some oil.” You just give it oil so it doesn’t explode. We need to start treating ourselves with at least as much respect as we treat our cars.
Relearning the Art of Doing Nothing
So, how do we actually stop? How do we un-optimize? It’s harder than it sounds because we have to fight against our own habits and a world that is constantly screaming for our attention. It’s not about some grand lifestyle change. It’s about the small things.
- Leave the phone in the other room. Just for twenty minutes. Sit on the porch. Look at a tree. It’ll feel twitchy at first, but that goes away.
- Do something you’re bad at. Paint, sing, garden, knit. Do it badly and don’t show anyone. Keep it as a secret just for you.
- Drive without a podcast. Just listen to the road. Let your mind drift. You’d be surprised where it goes when you aren’t feeding it information.
- Say “no” to things that feel like obligations. If a social event feels like another task on your to-do list, maybe skip it. Your time is yours.
It’s about reclaiming your attention. Your attention is the most valuable thing you own. Everyone is trying to buy it, steal it, or manipulate it. When you choose to do “nothing,” you are taking your attention back and keeping it for yourself. It’s a quiet act of rebellion.
The Fear of Falling Behind
I think the biggest thing that keeps us in the “optimization” loop is fear. We’re afraid that if we slow down, we’ll fall behind. Everyone else is out there “crushing it,” right? If we take a nap or spend a Saturday afternoon staring at the ceiling, we’ll be left in the dust.
But behind to what? To where? Life isn’t a race with a finish line where the person who worked the most hours gets a trophy. We’re all heading to the same ending. The “dust” we’re worried about is often just an imaginary standard set by people who are just as tired and stressed as we are.
When I look back on my life, I don’t remember the days I was “efficient.” I don’t remember the weeks I cleared my inbox. I remember the afternoon I spent walking through the woods with no map. I remember the three-hour dinner where we talked about nothing and everything. I remember the times I felt present, not the times I felt productive.
A Slightly Less Busy Future
I’m not saying we should all quit our jobs and move to a cabin in the woods (though some days that sounds pretty good). We have responsibilities. We have bills. We have people who depend on us. Productivity is necessary for survival, but it shouldn’t be the goal of survival.
Maybe the goal is just to be more human. To be a little more messy, a little more idle, and a lot more forgiving of ourselves when we don’t meet some arbitrary standard of “output.” I’m trying to embrace the “slow” moments now. I’m trying to let my coffee get cold because I was too busy watching a bird outside the window or thinking about a book I read ten years ago.
It’s a work in progress. Some days the to-do list still wins. But I’m learning that the world doesn’t end if I don’t cross everything off. The sun still sets, the birds still sing, and I’m still here. And honestly? That’s more than enough.
Take a breath. Put the phone down. Go be unproductive for a while. You might be surprised at how much better you feel when you stop trying so hard to be “better.”