Have We Forgotten How to Do Nothing?

When did sitting quietly become something we feel guilty about?

There was a time when doing nothing was perfectly acceptable. You could sit in a chair, stare out of a window, drink a cup of tea and, if anyone asked what you were doing, simply reply, Nothing. And that was the end of the conversation. These days, doing nothing seems to require an explanation. Preferably a convincing one.

We live in a world where every spare moment apparently needs to be filled with something useful, entertaining or educational. We listen to podcasts while walking, check emails while eating and scroll through our phones while waiting for the kettle to boil.

Even relaxation has become something we need to organise. We have wellness retreats, mindfulness apps and expensive holidays designed to help us unwind. Apparently, we now need to pay someone to teach us how to sit still. Which is rather amusing when you think about it.

When Even Childhood Needs a Timetable

During my years as a teacher, one thing I noticed was how tired so many children seemed to be. Not because they weren’t getting enough sleep, but because their lives were already so incredibly busy. Music lessons, sport, drama, languages, weekend activities and goodness knows what else. Their parents were working hard, spending considerable money and doing everything possible to give their children the best start in life.

But I often wondered whether the children were actually enjoying any of it.

I was also a Scout leader for many years. Our group was popular, with a waiting list, because we offered everything from camping and outdoor adventures to overseas experiences and personal achievements. But I always believed Scouting should be something a child wanted to do, not another activity squeezed between piano lessons and tennis coaching because it might look impressive on a future CV.

At the end of one year, I gathered the Scouts together and asked who wanted to return the following year. A few enthusiastic hands shot up immediately. Others weren’t quite so sure. I’ll have to ask Mum, as a fairly typical response. Which made me wonder. Surely the first question should be whether they wanted to come back

One particular child caught my attention. He was a lovely kid. Always polite, always on time and always did what was asked of him. His parents were good people too, genuinely supportive of our group.

I took him aside and asked what he actually wanted to do. Then, out of curiosity, I asked him to describe a normal week. Well, that was an eye-opener.

Monday was piano lessons followed by football training. Tuesday was Scouts. Wednesday was theatre class and more sport, football in season and cricket in the off-season. Thursday was Chinese lessons. Friday meant tutoring in math’s and English. Saturday was football or cricket, and Sunday was church and Sunday school. And somewhere amongst all that was ordinary school, homework and everything else that comes with being a child.

I was exhausted just listening to him. His weekly schedule could have rivalled that of a busy corporate executive, although at least the executive might occasionally sneak off for a long lunch.

So I asked him again, privately, what he really wanted to do. I’ll never forget his answer. Very quietly, he told me he just wanted one day when he could stay at home and be a kid with his friends.

That was it. Not another adventure. Not another achievement, certificate or badge. Just one ordinary day to be a child.

He didn’t return to Scouts the following year. I never discussed our conversation with his parents, and I have no idea where life took him.

But I’ve never forgotten him. Here was a child surrounded by opportunities, encouraged to achieve and given every chance to develop his talents. Yet the one thing he really wanted was something that didn’t require lessons, equipment, fees or a timetable.

When Being Busy Becomes a Way of Life

I sometimes wonder whether those childhood schedules prepare us for a lifetime of believing that every available moment must be filled.

Ask someone how their weekend was and the answer often sounds like a report on a particularly demanding work project. We went shopping, cleaned the house, met friends for lunch, took the children somewhere, went out for dinner and managed to squeeze in a walk. Wonderful. But did anyone actually enjoy themselves

Even holidays have become something of an endurance event. Seven countries in seven days. Twelve attractions before lunch. Another historic monument to photograph before the coach leaves.

We arrive somewhere beautiful armed with itineraries, reservations and a list of things we absolutely mustn’t miss. And heaven forbid we should spend an afternoon sitting in a café watching the world go by. After all, we could be missing something important.

We return home exhausted, proudly announcing that we need another holiday to recover from the one we’ve just had. Somewhere along the way, being busy became a badge of honour.

And the strangest part is that even when we finally have an afternoon with nothing planned, we often feel guilty about it.

We could sort out that cupboard. Answer those emails. Organise our photographs. Do something useful. As though an afternoon that achieves nothing is somehow an afternoon wasted.

But I’m beginning to think we’ve got that completely wrong.

The Dangerous Possibilities of a Free Afternoon

I volunteer teaching English at a local school here in Da Nang, alongside a remarkable man whose passion for helping his students become confident English speakers is quite inspiring.

One rainy afternoon, I found myself with absolutely nothing planned. No appointments, no commitments and nowhere I needed to be. With the rain making outdoor activities rather unappealing, I settled into the lobby coffee shop with my computer, intending to enjoy a quiet afternoon. That was probably my first mistake.

After years of teaching international students, I still find myself thinking about different ways people learn. My students always enjoyed my learning by doing approach, particularly the games and practical activities that encouraged them to participate rather than simply sit and listen.

As I watched the rain, I began wondering whether some of those activities might work with our Vietnamese students. Well, one thought led to another. Before long, I was adapting games, creating activities and putting together lesson plans. So much for doing nothing.

I showed my ideas to my friend, who owns the school, and asked whether he’d mind trying a few of them with our class. Our students can be quite shy, particularly when asked to speak English in front of others. Initially, there were hesitant volunteers, nervous smiles and a little gentle encouragement needed.

But once we started, things changed. There was laughter, plenty of amusement at my rather crazy games and, most importantly, the students were communicating and becoming less afraid of making mistakes.

It was wonderful to watch. There was, however, one small problem. My friend was so impressed that he now expects me to come up with more activities on a regular basis.

Apparently, I’ve managed to turn a completely free afternoon into homework. Not exactly what I’d planned.

Sometimes it’s perfectly acceptable to sit with a coffee and watch the rain. And sometimes you accidentally give yourself a new job.

The Unexpected Rewards of Doing Nothing

One of the things I love most about living overseas is how uncomplicated everyday life can be. Of course, I still have commitments and responsibilities. Life doesn’t magically become one long holiday just because you live somewhere different.

But here in Da Nang, there’s something wonderfully refreshing about being able to sit on the beach or spend an afternoon in a café without anyone expecting you to be doing something more important. And sometimes doing absolutely nothing leads to something rather wonderful.

I was sitting in a busy café one day, enjoying my cà phê dừa Vietnamese coconut coffee, which, incidentally, is a very good reason to sit still for a while.

The café was crowded, and spare seats were becoming difficult to find.Yet nobody was rushing anyone along. There were no impatient staff hovering nearby, no meaningful glances towards the door and no subtle suggestions that perhaps you’d occupied your table long enough. You’d bought your coffee. The seat was yours. Enjoy yourself.

A woman with an American accent approached and politely asked whether she could use the spare chair beside me. Of course she could.

And, as often happens when two strangers find themselves sitting together, we started chatting. Nothing particularly important. No grand discussion about the meaning of life. Just an ordinary conversation about this and that.

There was no plan to make a new friend, no organised social gathering and certainly no need to exchange business cards. We were simply two people sitting in a café, enjoying a conversation.

And here’s the lovely part. That woman is now one of my closest and dearest friends. I know that wherever life takes us, we’ll remain in touch. To think that such a special friendship began because I happened to be sitting in a café, enjoying a coconut coffee, with absolutely nowhere else I needed to be.

Had I been rushing off to my next appointment, checking my phone or worrying about all the things I should have been doing, we might never have spoken. And I wouldn’t have known what I’d missed.

Perhaps We’re Missing the Point

I often think about that little boy in my Scout group.

He had every opportunity a parent could wish for. His days were filled with activities designed to help him learn, grow and achieve. Yet the one thing he wanted most was something nobody had thought to put in his timetable. A day to simply be a child.

Years later, I sat in a café in Vietnam with absolutely nowhere I needed to be. A stranger asked to share my table, we started talking, and that stranger became one of my dearest friends.

We fill our children’s lives with opportunities, our own lives with obligations and our holidays with experiences we simply mustn’t miss. We’re so determined to make the most of every moment that we sometimes forget to enjoy the moments themselves.

Not every hour needs a purpose. Not every day needs an achievement. And not every empty space in our lives needs to be filled.

I never knew what happened to that little boy.

But after all these years, I still remember what he wanted. And I really hope he got his day.

Love MyLifestyle #Sheridan-Leigh

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About the Author:

Sheridan-Leigh is the passionate voice behind the MyLifestyle Blog, where life is celebrated with vibrant stories and insightful travel tips. With a deep love for slow travel, she believes in truly experiencing each destination, creating connections beyond the surface. Her blog is a blend of personal stories, expert advice, and a philosophy that life is for living to the fullest and is rich with opportunities for growth and adventure. Join Sheridan-Leigh as she shares her journey, inspiring others to embrace life, travel deeply, and live fully.