Discovering the sweetness of doing nothing

There are a number of things I’m not good at. Following any kind of direction, to anywhere, for example. Or baking (I recently ended up pouring my carefully created key lime pie into the serving bowls). And I’m completely and utterly rubbish at switching off. I can be aching for shut-eye, certain that the fatigue I’d been battling throughout the day would bask in the luxury of having nothing to do but sleep. I can be shattered after a day racing from meeting to meeting, from train to interview to studio to home. And when the chance finally arrives for a spot of well-deserved nothingness… PING! My brain somehow flings out its sails, ready to venture forth on its second wind. Off it goes, planning and analysing, scolding (I really should have got more done today/rung that person/run that errand) and renegotiating. Meanwhile I watch on with mounting helplessness and frustration as my behind-the-eyelid action goes into overdrive.

I infuriate myself with my inability to switch the heck off.

Hence, in lockdown, with fewer places to be and fewer people to see, I figured I would work really hard at the whole ‘You can’t switch on if you never switch off thing’. All those articles bulging with advice on how to find your inner zen, all those Instagram pictures of dew-dripping tulips and sunsets exhaling serenity, all those #meditation Twitter updates – all those chill-out reminders I’d scrolled through and passed by as I marched my way through busy.

No more.

I’m forcing myself to press pause (a button I genuinely struggle to find on the TV remote, never mind in real life). Each day. Just for a few moments.

And so, for twenty minutes a day for the last few months, I've sat on the bright blue beanbag my husband (who I call B) bought me for my birthday, relegated to under-the-bed territory for far too long. I’ve experimented with morning meditation, pre and post-lunch meditation, and before bed meditation.

Here’s an insight into how it’s gone:

What makes it worse is when B joins in. He has this infuriating ability to be zen within seconds. Post-meditation, he’ll slowly open his eyes, adjust to the darkness of the room, yawn, stretch and say “Well that was lovely, wasn’t it? I feel so chilled.” I, meanwhile, will muster an “Mmm” as I scramble to my phone to upload and update my to do lists.

I remember one occasion when we indulged in a couples’ massage during a special trip to Cape Town:

Me: I wish my masseuse would blow her nose. She’s full of cold and snot and I’m bound to catch something.

What’s that noise out there? Couldn’t they keep it down a bit? Don’t they know this is a spa?

My stomach's rumbling. It always rumbles when I lie down. Maybe if I just cough a bit it’ll distract from my crazy rumbling?

I wonder if B’s enjoying this? I hope so. But surely he’s put off by all the snot too? I wonder if he remembered to do…

B: Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Me: Oh my holy flip. HOW? We’ve been in the room for approximately 3 minutes and he’s already asleep? Je ne comprends pas. Right. Ignore the snoring. Just relax. Think about sand between your toes, think of whispering palm trees shading you from hot Caribbean rays, think about how much this is costing and how much you really should be enjoying it but instead all you’re doing is being so aware of every little scrape and sniffle and how irritating it is that B can just click his fingers and disappear off to dreamland…

How I wish I could be more B.

I also wish I could be more Tom Hodgkinson, the 'Idler' author who argues, incredibly effectively, that 'idling' is vital to leading a happy, creative and productive existence. Dr Laurie Santos interviews him for her podcast, The Happiness Lab, and he certainly made me re-evaluate my perception of time and doing.

Is this going to take me a while to master, if there is even such a thing as mastering meditation? Yes.

Am I better off for carving some space out of my day to meditate? Yes.

Did I manage to bow my head at the end of my last meditation and not reach straight for my notepad? Yes.

This is a mini-celebration in itself.

In Italy they celebrate 'la dolce far niente', ‘the sweetness of doing nothing’. Of letting your mind and body enjoy uninterrupted being - as embraced by Elizabeth Gilbert in her novel 'Eat, Pray, Love'. Slowly, I’m giving myself the time and the space to learn this art, to start to savour this delicacy. To not always strive to be busy. But to, quite simply, and happily, just be.