It's the beginning of the year (early January 2020); I have a sinking feeling in my stomach. I have this notion that after taking an extensive Christmas break (two weeks), I need to occupy every second of my workday with billable activities. How else will the mortgage get paid? Uneasiness rose this morning as I wrote a monthly update for Trischler Design Co. Was I using up time that won't produce an economic return? It was serendipitous timing then that I decided to start reading an interview with Jenny Odell in the latest issue of Offscreen. She's the author of a book called How To Do Nothing.

It was hard for me to focus my attention on the article because reading isn't profitable. I tried to manipulate myself by saying, "learning from Jenny can lead new wisdom, which leads to productivity, and eventually leads to profit." I don't believe that thinking works. I'd much instead read for enjoyment.

I kept reading and found encouragement in the article. It helped ease the tension I was feeling about how to spend my time. Jenny reminded me that not all activity has to earn money, and that thinking that way isn't healthy.

As I write this article, I'm not making any money. Who knows if anyone will even read it? Deep within me, there is a fear that I am not enough and that with each act of productivity, I slowly become someone, or earn something. I know I'm not alone in this thinking. Perhaps you feel similarly? To these thoughts and those like them, I say, "ridiculous!"

Here are some words from Jenny to help us both out as we move towards the enjoyment of activities with no economic or productive value.

We're in a system where all time is counted as money, and we're expected to monetize all of our time and experience. So deciding to take some time just for yourself feels extravagant. I certainly feel that way: If I try to take a day off and do nothing, it feels expensive. That feeling is not based upon a decision that I ever had a choice in making, which just shows how entrenched the time-is-money equation has become.
There is an underlying notion that time is a resource that you can and should try to squeeze results out of, whether those results are for your work, or for work you do on yourself.
There is now the feeling that every moment and every experience could and should be capitalized upon. Maybe it's not that you're literally trying to make money off of everything, but that you are submitting it for evaluation on social media. So everything becomes hyper-visible and available for consumption, rather than merely existing for its own sake.
Lastly, this one is unrelated, but still good. Jenny is speaking of the creative process. I'm going to hold onto this thought for awhile: The question becomes not 'what did you make?,' but 'how did you arrange things?'

Source: "Nothing in the Age of Everything." Offscreen, Dec. 2019, pp. 38–57.

It's hard to do nothing