I’m sitting here at my kitchen table, looking at a cold cup of coffee that I’ve reheated twice now. It’s one of those mornings where the sun is doing that low, golden thing across the floorboards—the kind of light that makes you want to just sit and watch the dust motes dance. But instead of watching them, I spent the last twenty minutes scrolling through a feed of people I haven’t spoken to in ten years, checking emails that don’t need an answer until Tuesday, and feeling a strange, low-grade buzz of anxiety in my chest.
It’s a weird way to live, isn’t it? We’re more “connected” than we’ve ever been, yet I can’t remember the last time I felt truly, deeply rested. Not just “slept eight hours” rested, but that kind of soul-deep quiet where you aren’t constantly waiting for the next notification or the next item on the to-do list to drop. I think we’re all just… tired. And I don’t think a vacation is going to fix it this time.
I’ve been thinking a lot about why we do this to ourselves. Why is it so hard to just sit? Why does “doing nothing” feel like a moral failing? We’ve been conditioned to believe that every spare second of our lives needs to be optimized, monetized, or at the very least, documented. It’s exhausting. And honestly, I think it’s time we talked about how to stop.
The Optimization Trap
There’s this sneaky idea that’s worked its way into our brains over the last decade. It’s the idea that we are essentially pieces of software that need to be constantly updated and optimized. We talk about “hacking” our sleep, “optimizing” our morning routines, and “maximizing” our output. Even our hobbies have turned into projects. If you like to bake, you should start a blog. If you like to garden, you should sell your seedlings. If you’re just sitting on the porch, you should be listening to a “productive” podcast so you’re at least learning something.
But we aren’t software. We’re people. And people weren’t built to be “on” at 100% capacity from the moment the alarm goes off until the moment we pass out at night. When we treat ourselves like machines, we start to feel like machines. We get glitchy. We overheat. We burn out.
I caught myself the other day looking for a book to read. I found a novel I’d been wanting to dive into for months, but then I hesitated. I thought, “Is this the best use of my time? Maybe I should read that business book instead so I can be better at my job.” I actually put the novel back on the shelf. It took me a full minute to realize how insane that was. I was denying myself a moment of genuine joy because it didn’t have a “measurable ROI.” That’s the optimization trap, and it’s a quiet thief of a good life.
The Difference Between Numbing and Resting
I think part of the reason we’re so perpetually drained is that we’ve confused “numbing” with “resting.” When we get home from a long day, we collapse onto the couch and pick up the phone. We scroll for two hours, watching fifteen-second clips of people we don’t know doing things we don’t care about. Then we go to bed and wonder why we still feel like we’ve been hit by a truck.
Scrolling isn’t rest. It’s input. Your brain is still processing images, text, emotions, and advertisements. It’s still “working,” even if your body is still. True rest—the kind that actually moves the needle on your mental health—usually involves a lot less input and a lot more presence.
- Active Rest: Things like walking the dog without headphones, kneading bread, or sitting in the garden. These things engage the senses without demanding a specific outcome.
- Passive Rest: Staring at the clouds, taking a nap (a real one, not a “guilt nap”), or just listening to the rain.
The problem is that real rest often feels boring at first. And because we’ve spent so long being overstimulated, our brains interpret “boring” as a signal that something is wrong. We get itchy. We reach for the phone. But if you can push past that first ten minutes of boredom, something happens. Your brain starts to settle. The “buzz” starts to fade.
Why the Phone is a Thief
I’m not anti-technology. I mean, I’m writing this on a screen. But we have to admit that these devices are designed to keep us from ever being bored. And if we’re never bored, we never reflect. If we never reflect, we never actually process our lives. We just keep stacking new experiences on top of old ones until the whole pile falls over.
I’ve started trying this thing where I leave my phone in a drawer for the first hour of the day. It’s harder than I thought it would be. That reflexive reach for the nightstand is a powerful habit. But in that hour of “quiet,” I’ve noticed things I haven’t noticed in years. The way the light changes. The specific sound of the birds in the maple tree outside. It turns out, the world is actually pretty interesting when you aren’t looking at it through a five-inch piece of glass.
Reclaiming the Physical World
We spend so much of our time in the “digital world” that we’ve become disconnected from our physical selves. I know that sounds a bit “woo-woo,” but hear me out. When was the last time you felt something with your hands that wasn’t a keyboard or a touchscreen?
Last weekend, I decided to fix a loose board on my back deck. I’m not a handy person. At all. I spent twenty minutes looking for a hammer and another ten figuring out which screws to use. But while I was doing it—feeling the grain of the wood, the weight of the tool, the physical resistance of the screw—I realized I wasn’t thinking about my emails. I wasn’t thinking about the news. I was just… there. In my body. Doing a thing.
There is a specific kind of healing that happens when we engage with the physical world. Whether it’s cooking a meal from scratch, knitting a scarf, or just walking through the woods, these activities anchor us in the present. They remind us that we are physical beings in a physical world, not just “users” in a digital ecosystem. It’s hard to feel burnout when you’re focused on the smell of sautéing onions or the feeling of cold wind on your face.
The Fear of the Silence
If I’m being honest, I think a lot of our “busyness” is actually a defense mechanism. We fill every second with noise because we’re afraid of what we might hear if things get quiet. When the noise stops, the big questions start to creep in. “Am I happy? Is this what I wanted for my life? Why do I feel so lonely even when I’m around people?”
It’s much easier to scroll through a celebrity scandal or check your work messages at 9 PM than it is to sit with those questions. But those questions don’t go away just because you ignore them. They just turn into that low-grade anxiety I mentioned earlier. They turn into the “unexplained” fatigue that haunts us.
I’ve realized that I need to make friends with the silence. I need to let those questions come up, even if I don’t have the answers. Because once you stop running from yourself, you don’t have to spend so much energy on the “chase.” You can just be. And there is an incredible amount of rest in that.
Learning to “Waste” Time Again
We need to bring back the “wasted” afternoon. Remember when you were a kid and you’d spend three hours building a fort or just lying in the grass watching the clouds? You weren’t “building skills” or “networking.” You were just living.
I’m trying to bring that back into my adult life. I’m giving myself permission to take the long way home just because the trees are pretty. I’m giving myself permission to spend an hour on a crossword puzzle even if it doesn’t make me “smarter.” I’m trying to stop asking, “What is the point of this?” and start asking, “Is this nourishing me?”
It’s a slow process. Productivity guilt is a hard thing to unlearn. You’ll be sitting there, staring at a sunset, and a voice in your head will say, “You could be doing laundry right now.” And you have to learn to say back to that voice, “Yes, I could. But the laundry will be there in an hour, and this sunset will be gone in five minutes.”
Small Ways to Reclaim the “Nothing”
You don’t have to quit your job and move to a cabin in the woods to find peace (though some days, that sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?). It’s about the small, intentional choices we make every day. It’s about creating little pockets of “unproductive” time.
- The No-Phone Zone: Pick a place in your house—maybe the dining table or your bed—where phones are simply not allowed. Let that space be a sanctuary for your brain.
- Walk Without an Objective: Go outside for fifteen minutes. Don’t track your steps. Don’t listen to a podcast. Just walk and see what you see.
- Single-Tasking: Try doing just one thing at a time. If you’re drinking tea, just drink tea. If you’re talking to a friend, just talk to them. It sounds simple, but it’s actually a radical act in today’s world.
- Embrace the Boredom: Next time you’re standing in line at the grocery store, don’t pull out your phone. Just stand there. Look at the weird magazines. People-watch. Let your mind wander.
These aren’t “hacks.” They’re just ways of reminding yourself that you are in control of your attention. And your attention is the most valuable thing you own.
I’m still not great at this. I still catch myself checking my email at red lights. I still feel that pang of guilt when I see someone else’s “hustle” on social media. But I’m getting better. I’m learning that my worth isn’t tied to how many items I checked off my list today. I’m learning that a life well-lived isn’t necessarily a life that’s “productive.”
The coffee is cold again. But you know what? I think I’m just going to sit here for another few minutes anyway. The light is still beautiful, and the dust motes are still dancing, and for right now, that’s more than enough.
Maybe it’s enough for you, too. If you’re feeling that weight today, just know you have permission to put it down for a bit. The world won’t stop spinning if you take a breath. I promise.