My intentions for my annual leave included catching up at least one crochet project, cleaning out my closet to donate old clothes that are much bigger now that I’ve lost some weight, reading more of Writing Appalachia, and attempting a visit to Cloudland Canyon. I did… practically none of these things. To be fair, I did stitch a few rows on the blanket I ignored for much of 2025; I read all of the Cherokee oral narratives in the anthology. What I did do? Learned this season’s flu vaccine was a mismatch for the dominant strain by suffering from a mild case of it, and immersed myself in a research project that just would not let me rest! In between all of that, I did… nothing. Glorious nothing.
What is it about doing nothing that bothers us humans so much? Why do we constantly feel the need to be doing something no matter what? Over twenty years ago, I changed course and shifted away from becoming a veterinarian who focused on animal behavior, but I never stopped observing how animals (including other humans) behaved. Take the cats I’ve nurtured over the years, for instance. While each cat has their own unique personality, they all share the same trait when it comes to the mastery of doing nothing. They simply find a spot, get comfortable, and just exist — no pressure, no guilt. Of course, the looming threat of bills, taxes, and “what’s for dinner?” never troubles them, but why should I have some guilt over staring blankly at a screen, a page, a window, or… nothing? The medium with which we choose to distract ourselves has changed over centuries, but never let the older generations guilt you into thinking the latest iteration is inherently worse than the last. That’s a farce.
Anyway, I found myself doing nothing, and I realized how deeply my body needed to just rest. I let go of the guilt that I wasn’t crocheting my blanket; the weather changes are reminding me that my wrist joints aren’t as youthful as they once were anyway. I let go of the guilt that I wasn’t reading something more enriching version the stream of vulgar humor my algorithm fed me; a good laugh that leaves your entire midsection sore always helps! I let go of the guilt that I wasn’t “productive” by passing along old clothes; I can still find time at the end of the day or on the weekends to break the task into smaller parts. As for Cloudland Canyon, this weather with sad, leafless trees really isn’t conducive to the photos I wanted anyway — we can save that for the spring when the dogwoods and magnolias start blooming. In the year of trust, I need to trust the process!
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