How often do you let yourself be idle?

And why boredom is essential to creativity

I love reading about how stories came to writers. J.K. Rowling (an author I no longer support, but, for the sake of this post, will be used as an example) famously talks about how the idea for Harry Potter came to her while sitting on a train at King’s Cross. Staring out a window, doing absolutely nothing, letting her mind wander. Then , out of nowhere, an image of a bespectacled boy who finds out he has magical powers dropped into her head.

Gabriel Garcia Marquez also told of how the idea for One Hundred Years of Solitude came to him while driving his family to Acapulco, and how he turned the car around and drove the family back home so that he could begin writing it.

There are many other stories like this. Somehow, the pattern seems to follow this idea of “an artist was idle and an idea came to them; this idea then changed their life.”

When I was younger, I used to sit idle a lot more than I do now. On my lunch break from a job I hated, I would sit outside by myself and stare off into the distance. Images of whatever I was working on at the time (usually fanfiction but also my first attempt at an original novel) would dance in front of my eyes. Lines would drop into my head out of nowhere, and I’d return home later that day with my pockets full of tiny notes I used to scribble on bits of calculator paper.

Lately, I’ve been wondering where that went. I find it hard to find a moment to just sit and enjoy a book. I remember devouring books in a single day. These days it takes me two months to finish a very easy read. It’s like I’ve developed a fear of being idle, a fear of not being productive. And honestly, I hate it.

Taryn Ellio via Pexels

When I was a child, being idle was not a good thing. I was an imaginative child. I liked to draw and write and do so while I listened to music (I still do), and I loved to play pretend. But being idle around my father meant that he would find something for you to do. And the thing you would have to do for him, you wouldn’t do right, no matter how hard you tried. So I avoided him by keeping to myself in my room. And were I ever to be in his presence, I would quickly have to pretend to be busy with school work or something to hopefully keep him disinterested in employing me for something else.

I think I regained some of my choice to be idle while I was young, after my dad was out of my life. But in the last few years, my fear of being unproductive has returned with a vengeance. Building a business from scratch, the need to prove that I can be financially independent and contribute to my home’s expenses is pressure enough, as well having spent some time recently around some people who also looked down on idleness triggered me right back into guilting myself out of allowing myself a chance to sit without being productive.

Idleness—boredom, if you will—is imperative for us creatives to be able to create. But capitalism and an overflow of technical gadgets, among other things, have kept our brains busy without break for years now. We are trapped in a cycle of do, do, do. Even when we go on our so-called vacations, we’re looking around for what we can use in our business. How can we monetize our leisurely moments? How can we turn every single breath we take into cash so that not one single one goes wasted?

I miss being bored. When I lived in the Caribbean, we had a terrible electric company that failed often, leaving our entire island sometimes in pitch blackness for hours. For some, understandably, this was torture. But for me, it was the perfect excuse to lie back on the couch and regale everyone with my limited singing abilities as I finally purged myself of every earworm that had fatigued me over the past few weeks. There was nothing to be done. Nothing that you could find to do. During these times, people would sit outside on their front porches and have long-winded chats with relatives and neighbors. I remember my mom and her boyfriend climbing up on the roof one of those nights to watch the stars (while I serenaded them from inside the house with my aforementioned limited singing abilities).

I don’t make time for idleness anymore. I hardly make time for leisure. I don’t read as much as I’d like to anymore. I don’t remember the last time I painted. I don’t remember the last time I sat down to sing along with the radio. I used to play music when I was a baby writer, and I’d sit by a window and give my mind free rein, let it wander like a leashless dog in a wide-open field. I wonder now, is this the reason I struggle to write my novel? Is this the reason I never have time to write my novel? Because I have to do, do, do? Because I have to monetize my breaths, break each one down and see their profit range?

Even as I write this and I consider opening my days up for more idleness, a tightness creeps into my chest. A voice whispers, “What if you’re idle and everything you’ve worked for falls away? What if the universe punishes you for not doing the most?”

But in the back of that, there’s another voice. One that honestly sounds much more confident, and it says, “Why would the universe punish you for wanting you to notice it more? The sole purpose of consciousness is to notice the universe. The universe wants to be noticed.”

You can’t convince me that the universe doesn’t reward us for noticing it. Even if not with ideas for the next best-selling novel, then at the very least with beautiful images of itself, with the silence that your mind needs after going so long without a break. The thing is, maybe we won’t get rewarded with ideas for our next big break, but currently our minds are so crowded with our constant need to be productive, that we’re not even getting the smaller ideas that can lead us to the bigger ones.

We need more idleness. We need more boredom. We need nights of blackouts and sitting on roofs (just be safe y’all). We need more pointless, bad singing. Staring out windows. Stuck in traffic karaoke jams.

I’m setting an intention right here and right now to make more time for idleness. An hour a day just for staring out the window, an hour to do absolutely nothing. To do more of what brings me joy. To notice the universe through the eyes and consciousness provided for me to do so. And for goodness sake, let’s also put our phones down (and other techy devices — this means TVs, too) during that idle time. When I say idle, I mean, pre-industrial era idle. I’m not joking.

I’m inviting you for an hour of listening to music, of dancing alone in your living room (or with a partner!)(Yes, the partner can be your dog!). You can paint or be creative as long as it’s not with the intent of getting something out of it. Go on and make a mess! Go into your backyard or find a spot at a nearby park, or on your floor if it’s too cold for the park where you are, you just let yourself lie back. Let your body rest and just let your mind go. Let it ravel the very cosmos if it will. Let’s be intentional in not being intentional all the time. Let’s move ahead giving ourselves more breaks and allowing space for whatever messages the universe has been waiting to deliver to us.

---

---

Hi there, I’m Maria! I’m a freelance fiction editor assisting women writers in amplifying their voices through their writing. You can find me on Instagram @theintuitivedesk. Or visit my site
www. theintuitivedesk.com to find out more.