Let’s begin with something simple: when was the last time you did absolutely nothing? Not scrolled through your phone, not watched TV, not thought about the next thing on your to-do list—but actually, truly, did nothing?
If you’re like most people, that might be a tough question to answer.
We live in a world that rewards productivity, hustle, and constant movement. From the moment we wake up to the moment we crash into bed, our days are often a blur of responsibilities, noise, notifications, and endless to-dos. We chase deadlines, juggle roles, and try to squeeze meaning out of packed calendars. We’ve been taught that “rest” is only deserved once we’ve earned it, and even then, it’s often laced with guilt.
But what if I told you that doing nothing—really doing nothing—is not lazy, but necessary? What if stillness is not a luxury, but a lifeline? What if, in the quiet moments we so often run from, we actually find ourselves again?
These are my notes on rest and stillness—the kind that doesn’t ask for permission and the kind that heals from the inside out.
The Myth of Constant Motion
Let’s start with the myth that movement equals progress.
We are always in motion, whether physically, mentally, or emotionally. And while movement can be good—it’s how we grow, build, create—it can also become an addiction. We can get so used to doing, fixing, improving, and achieving that we forget how to simply be.
Somewhere along the way, we started believing that unless we’re being productive, we’re wasting time. That rest is something we earn. That sitting still is a sign of laziness or a lack of ambition.
But here’s the truth: constant motion doesn’t always lead to growth. Sometimes, it just leads to burnout.
We weren’t built to operate like machines. We are not productivity robots. We’re human beings—meant to ebb and flow, not just go and go.
The Power of Pausing
Think about nature for a second. Trees don’t bloom all year round. Animals hibernate. The ocean has tides. The sun rises and sets. Everything in nature has a rhythm, a cycle—a time for movement and a time for rest.
Why should we be any different?
Pausing is powerful. It gives us space to breathe, to reflect, to feel. It creates room for clarity. It allows us to listen—not just to the world around us, but to ourselves.
In stillness, we notice things we usually overlook. The way the sunlight moves across the wall. The sound of our own breath. The subtle feelings we’ve been too busy to acknowledge. Our body’s whispers. Our heart’s quiet truths.
And in that noticing, we reconnect—with life, with meaning, with ourselves.
Rest is Revolutionary
Rest isn’t just about sleep (although good sleep is so important). It’s about allowing yourself to step back. To retreat. To simply be without the pressure to perform.
In a culture that thrives on overworking and glorifies exhaustion, choosing rest is a quiet rebellion. It’s saying: “I am enough, even when I’m not producing.” It’s reclaiming your humanity from a world that wants you to hustle until you forget who you are.
Rest is a boundary. It says, “This is my limit, and I respect it.” It’s an act of self-love. It’s a reminder that your worth is not tied to how much you get done today.
Sometimes, rest looks like a nap. Sometimes it’s reading a book with no purpose except pleasure. Sometimes it’s lying on the floor and watching the ceiling. Sometimes it’s closing your eyes and doing nothing at all.
And yes, rest is hard. Especially when you’ve been taught that your value lies in your output. It takes unlearning. It takes gentleness. It takes courage.
The Lost Art of Doing Nothing
Doing nothing used to be normal.
Think back to childhood—those long stretches of boredom in summer, lying on the grass, staring at clouds. The aimless wandering. The daydreaming. The quiet joy of having no plans.
Somewhere between growing up and growing busy, we lost that.
Now, if we have five free minutes, we reach for our phones. We fill the silence. We distract ourselves from ourselves. Stillness feels uncomfortable, even scary.
But boredom isn’t the enemy. It’s the beginning of creativity. It’s the crack where inspiration sneaks in. When we’re not cramming our minds with content and noise, we give space for imagination to come alive again.
Doing nothing is not the absence of meaning—it’s often where the deepest meaning is found.
Stillness as a Practice
Stillness doesn’t just happen. You have to choose it. And you have to protect it.
That might mean setting boundaries with work. It might mean turning your phone off for an hour. It might mean taking a walk without headphones or sitting quietly with a cup of tea.
It could be five minutes of silence in the morning. Or lying in bed for a few extra minutes before you jump into the day. It could be journaling, meditating, or simply breathing.
Stillness isn’t always peaceful. Sometimes, when we finally stop, all the emotions we’ve been avoiding rise to the surface. That’s okay. That’s part of it.
Stillness gives us the chance to feel, to process, to be present with ourselves.
It’s not about emptying your mind or reaching some perfect Zen state. It’s about returning to your center. About remembering what matters. About being here—fully here—even if just for a moment.
What I’ve Learned from Stillness
Over the past year, I’ve been learning to embrace rest and stillness more intentionally. And it hasn’t been easy.
At first, I felt restless. Anxious. Like I was wasting time. I’d sit in silence and immediately want to fill it. But over time, I’ve discovered that the quiet isn’t empty—it’s full of life.
Here’s what I’ve learned:
- Stillness helps me hear myself again. In the noise of everyday life, my own voice gets lost. Stillness brings it back.
- Rest doesn’t make me less creative—it makes me more creative. Some of my best ideas have come when I stopped trying to chase them.
- Doing nothing reminds me that I am not my productivity. I am not my job, my deadlines, my inbox, or my achievements. I am a human being, not a human doing.
- Slowing down helps me see beauty in the small things: the way light hits the floor, the warmth of a blanket, the rhythm of my breath.
- It’s okay to not always be okay. Stillness gives me space to feel what I need to feel, without judgment.
So, here’s your permission slip: you are allowed to rest.
You are allowed to pause. To put your phone down. To say no. To lie down in the middle of the day. To not have all the answers. To take a walk without tracking your steps. To do absolutely nothing and feel good about it.
Doing nothing doesn’t mean you don’t care. It doesn’t mean you’re lazy or selfish. It means you’re human. It means you’re listening to your body, your mind, your soul.
Stillness isn’t wasted time—it’s sacred time.
Ayerhs Magazine 