“What did you do today?”

The question is innocuous enough. For family and friends this is a friendly way to open a conversation.

Responses can be brief or meandering but usually introduce one or two projects completed over the course of the day.

But, what if you did nothing? Nothing all day?

Where does the conversation go then?

When we are so habituated to listing our daily accomplishments, what happens if we have none to offer?

Having cut our teeth on the Protestant work ethic, most of us are uncomfortable “doing nothing.”

Working is ingrained in our psyche, and from it, from our success in it, we find our validation.

Many of us have “to do” lists. In the morning, we “set intentions” while we do yoga. Even when we “relax” we have to do something—knitting, reading, listening to music. When night falls, we go over what we’ve done. If we’ve ticked off a few items, we feel relieved, if not, it’s hard to sleep.

I remember when I was a PhD student I thought I’d be able to catch my breath once my dissertation was over. I would have “arrived” at reasonable adulthood.

Wrong!

Work had just begun.

Unless we set limits, academics basically work 24/7 all year round.

Students email me all hours of the night, and if I’m fool enough to log on, I’m accessible. Not that they expect an answer right away. Most don’t. But if they’ve emailed me about a link that doesn’t work or a page that’s missing…I can’t sleep until I’ve fixed the problem.

And summers?

Forget summers off!

That’s prime research time.

Along with weekends.

And you know what they say: “Publish or perish!” But to publish requires months, if not years, of constant work reading the latest research and exploring archives.

In fact, it’s really when I’m on campus or in the classroom that I have some leisure! If that makes sense. It’s during my unstructured time, my own time, that I’m busiest.

That’s when I’m writing, or drafting, or thinking. The little grey cells twirl about working on transitions, crafting a conclusion—or an introduction—, and trying on different words.

No, we don’t have summers off!

And the pathetic thing is even if we DO try to take a vacation—maybe lie on the beach in Belize—we can’t really put the grey cells in time out.

I remember years ago, when I was married to a non-academic, he could never understand why I couldn’t just “work for an hour” and then be ready to go play.

Maybe some people can.

I can’t.

It takes at least an hour to putter.

Puttering is important. It’s during the puttering that my grey cells are firing.

After puttering, there’s reviewing notes, checking sources, falling down a rabbit hole or two.

Maybe then, after I’ve surfaced, it’s time to write.

Plonk away at the laptop keys. Cut and paste. Scrap. Save.

And then putter some more.

To write a page can take two or three hours. And that’s a good day. And most likely, the next day, I’ll trash that and start all over. It’s a Sisyphean task!

Years ago my husband and I decided to take a vacation to Puerto Rico. It was during the academic spring break. All the students were on vacation, after all.

I packed my swimsuit, the paper I was working on, a few books, and the student essays I needed to grade.

“Just take your swimsuit and leave all that other stuff behind!” my friend Nancy advised. “You’re not going to even look at it.”

“But I can’t just not work. I’ll never catch up.”

She was right, though.

Despite every good intention, the essays remained in the folder at the bottom of my suitcase, untouched. The book traveled with me to the beach but remained unopened. I made a few edits on the paper, but that was all.

I swam instead, saw the bioluminescence on the island of Vieques, and toured Old San Juan.

And even while I was having the time of my life, in the back of my mind I was nagged by guilt.

Shouldn’t I be working?

I felt behind for the rest of the semester. I caught up. Eventually. It was harder to get past the feeling of guilt. How could I have been so lazy.

It’s the guilt that ensures summers aren’t “wasted.”

I may spend an evening on the front porch with a cold beer, conversing with friends, but that’s after sitting at my desk all day reading my students’ dissertation drafts, critiquing their job applications, writing letters of reference, reviewing journal articles or book manuscripts, or more.

Now that I’m nearing retirement, I’ve been trying to learn to be lazy.

It’s not easy.

Once when I was driving between North Carolina and St. Louis, I heard a woman on NPR talking about the importance of idleness.

She described how difficult it was for her to just be idle.

Burn-out had forced her to step away from her hectic career (whatever it was) and just stop everything.

The interviewer asked if she meditated or perhaps spent her new “free” time on a hobby.

No.

None of that would have allowed “idleness.”

She did NOTHING.

It took effort.

In a society that values productivity, accomplishments, and goals, doing nothing is difficult. It can even be terrifying.

“What did I accomplish today?”

NOTHING.

Is that good?

I think it can be.

Right now, I’m okay with doing nothing.

I’ve worked since high school, perhaps even earlier, always looking ahead, chasing a goal.

Isn’t it now okay to say… “I’m here”?

“I’ve reached my goal.”

“I’m where I want to be.”

I think, I’m going to be lazy for a while.

I’m not going to make “New Year’s Resolutions.”

And, I’m going to have the summers off.