My first attempt at doing nothing for ten minutes was a disaster.
Minute 1: This is fine. I can do this.
Minute 2: Check the time. Only two minutes? That can't be right.
Minute 3: My nose itches. Can I scratch it? Is that doing something? I'll scratch it.
Minute 4: I should be meditating. No, that's doing something. But thinking about not meditating is also doing something. Stop thinking. But telling myself to stop thinking is—
Minute 5: Check the time again. Consider giving up.
Minute 6: Notice my leg is bouncing. Stop it. It starts again. Give up trying to control it.
Minute 7: Remember an argument from three years ago. Replay entire conversation with better comebacks.
Minute 8: Sudden panic that I'm wasting my life. Push through.
Minute 9: Everything hurts. When did my back start aching? Have I always breathed this loud?
Minute 10: Timer goes off. Feel simultaneously like I've aged a year and accomplished nothing.
But here's the thing: That disaster? That was exactly what needed to happen.
Starting Where You Are (Spoiler: You're Bad at This)
If your first attempts at nothing feel like torture, congratulations—you're normal.
We're so used to constant stimulation that its absence feels wrong. Like trying to write with your non-dominant hand or walking backward. Your entire system rebels.
Taylor discovered this when they tried to eat lunch without their phone.
"I made it maybe three bites," they laugh. "Then I was reaching for my phone like it was oxygen. When I remembered I'd left it in another room, I actually got up to get it. For a second, I couldn't remember why I wasn't supposed to."
The good news? Being bad at nothing is the first step to being okay at nothing. And being okay at nothing is all you need.
Micro-Nothing: The Gateway Drug
Let's start stupidly small. So small you can't fail. So small your resistance doesn't have time to mobilize.
30 Seconds of Nothing - Stand in your kitchen while the coffee brews - Sit in your car before starting the engine - Pause before opening your laptop - Wait for the elevator without checking your phone
Thirty seconds. That's it. You're not trying to achieve enlightenment. You're just creating tiny pockets of space in your day.
Morgan started with the elevator thing.
"My office is on the 12th floor. That's about 45 seconds of elevator time. I used to spend it scrolling through emails I'd just check again at my desk. Now I just... ride the elevator."
"What do you do instead?" I asked.
"Nothing. I just stand there. Sometimes I notice the terrible elevator music. Sometimes I don't notice anything. But I arrive at my floor feeling different. Less frantic. Like I gave my brain a tiny vacation."
The Stand-in-Line Revolution
Here's a radical act: Next time you're in line—grocery store, coffee shop, bank—don't pull out your phone.
Just stand there.
Be a person in line.
Watch what happens: - Your hand will twitch toward your pocket - You'll feel awkward, like everyone's watching (they're not) - You might notice things: the music playing, conversations around you, how the light hits the floor - Time will move differently—slower at first, then not
This is nothing in its most practical form. You're not adding time to your day. You're just changing what you do with the time that's already there.
The One-Bite Challenge
Eat the first bite of your next meal in complete silence. No TV, no scrolling, no reading. Just you and the food.
One bite.
That's maybe 30 seconds of nothing.
Notice: - The actual taste (when did you last really taste your food?) - The texture - The temperature - How quickly your mind wants to multitask
This isn't mindful eating. You're not trying to have a spiritual experience with your sandwich. You're just eating without distraction for exactly one bite.
Medium Nothing: The Courage Zone
Once you've mastered micro-nothing (and by "mastered" I mean "can do it without wanting to scream"), it's time to expand.
The 15-Minute Morning
Before you check your phone in the morning, do nothing for 15 minutes.
I can hear your objections: - "I don't have 15 minutes!" - "I have kids!" - "I'll be late for work!"
Fine. Make it 10. Make it 5. But create a buffer between waking and consuming.
Jamie tried this and reported back:
"The first week was brutal. I'd wake up and immediately feel anxious about not checking my phone. What if something important happened? What if there was an emergency?
"Then I realized: In 20 years of having a cell phone, there had never been a morning emergency that couldn't wait 15 minutes. Never. Not once.
"Now I wake up and just lie there. Sometimes I notice the light changing on the ceiling. Sometimes I don't notice anything. But I start the day from my own thoughts, not from whatever the internet thinks I should care about."
The Lunch Hour That's Actually an Hour
Remember lunch hours? That mythical time when people stopped working to eat and rest?
Try this: Once a week, take an actual lunch hour. Not 20 minutes scarfing a sandwich at your desk. A full hour.
Here's the catch: Spend at least half of it doing nothing.
Eat your lunch (that's something). Then do nothing. Sit on a bench. Stand by a window. Lie on the grass if you're lucky enough to have grass nearby.
No phone. No book. No conversation. Just you, existing in the middle of the day like some kind of revolutionary.
The Weekend Morning Void
Saturday or Sunday morning. No alarm. No plans until noon.
Wake up when you wake up. Don't immediately reach for your phone. Don't jump into chores. Don't start optimizing your day.
Just... be awake.
Maybe you stay in bed. Maybe you wander to the kitchen. Maybe you sit on your porch. But for one morning, you have nowhere to be and nothing to do.
Chris discovered this by accident when their phone died overnight.
"I woke up and reached for it like always. Dead. Charger was downstairs. And I just thought... what if I don't?
"I stayed in bed for another hour. Not sleeping. Not planning my day. Just lying there. My partner woke up and we talked—really talked, not while scrolling. We made breakfast together without the TV on. By noon, when I finally charged my phone, I felt like I'd had a whole vacation."
Macro Nothing: The Deep End
This is where it gets scary. And transformative.
The Afternoon Off
Block out an entire afternoon. Tell people you're busy. You are busy. You're busy doing nothing.
No errands. No projects. No catching up on things. Just hours of unstructured time.
What happens when you have three hours and no agenda?
Quinn found out:
"The first hour was torture. I kept thinking of things I 'should' be doing. I almost gave up five times.
"The second hour, something shifted. I stopped fighting the empty time. I took a walk with no destination. Ended up at a park I'd driven past a hundred times. Sat on a bench. Watched dogs play.
"By the third hour, I felt like a different person. Like I'd been holding my breath for years and finally exhaled. I had this weird thought: This is what life is supposed to feel like."
The Do-Nothing Day
The ultimate challenge. A full day with no plans, no goals, no agenda.
Wake up when you wake up. Eat when you're hungry. Rest when you're tired. Move when you feel like it. Stop when you don't.
No schedule. No optimization. No productivity.
Avery does this once a month now:
"I call them my 'human days.' I'm not a parent those days, not an employee, not a friend who needs to show up. I'm just a human being who exists.
"Sometimes I end up cleaning because I feel like it. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I stare at the wall for an hour. The point is there's no plan. I'm not trying to accomplish anything. I'm just living."
Common Obstacles (And How to Ignore Them)
"But I'll Fall Behind"
Behind what? The imaginary race where everyone's running but no one knows where the finish line is?
Here's the truth: You're already behind. We all are. There's always someone doing more, achieving more, posting more. You can't win a race that never ends.
Doing nothing doesn't make you fall behind. It helps you realize the race is optional.
"My Mind Races When I'm Not Busy"
Of course it does. You've trained it to be constantly stimulated. It's like a hamster on a wheel that doesn't know how to stop running.
Let it race. Don't try to stop your thoughts or empty your mind. Just don't act on the thoughts. Let them spin while you sit still.
Eventually—and this might take weeks—your mind will realize the emergency it's been preparing for isn't coming. It will slow down. Not because you forced it, but because it finally feels safe enough to rest.
"I Feel Selfish Taking Time to Do Nothing"
Let's flip this: How selfish is it to be constantly exhausted? To be irritable with loved ones because you're running on empty? To model unsustainable behavior for everyone around you?
Taking time to do nothing isn't selfish. It's maintenance. You wouldn't call someone selfish for sleeping or eating. This is the same category of human need.
The Art of Protecting Nothing
Once you start creating pockets of nothing, the world will try to fill them. It's like nature abhorring a vacuum, except the nature is other people's expectations.
"Do you have plans Saturday?" "Yes." "Oh, what are you doing?" "Nothing." "So you're free?" "No. I'm doing nothing."
This conversation will confuse people. They'll think you're joking. You're not. You have plans. Your plans are to have no plans.
Protect your nothing time like you would any other appointment. Because it is an appointment—with your own humanity.
Tools That Aren't Really Tools
The Nothing Notebook Keep a small notebook for after your nothing sessions. Not during—that would be doing something. But after, jot down what bubbled up. Ideas, feelings, observations. Or don't. The notebook is optional.
The Timer (Or Not) Some people need the structure of a timer. "I will do nothing for 10 minutes." Others find timers stressful. Experiment. See what works.
The Nothing Spot Maybe it's a chair by the window. A bench in the park. A corner of your bedroom. Having a designated nothing spot can help signal to your brain: This is where we don't do things.
The Nothing Buddy Find someone else who gets it. Check in weekly: "Did you do nothing this week?" Celebrate each other's nothing achievements. Yes, this is slightly ridiculous. Do it anyway.
When Nothing Becomes Something
Here's a paradox to sit with: The moment you get "good" at doing nothing, you're doing something.
If you find yourself thinking, "I'm really excelling at nothing today," you've missed the point. Nothing isn't a skill to master. It's not another area for optimization.
It's just... nothing.
Some days you'll do nothing and feel peaceful. Other days you'll do nothing and feel antsy. Some days you'll plan to do nothing and end up doing something. Other days you'll plan to do something and accidentally do nothing.
All of this is fine. There's no perfect nothing. There's just the nothing you do today.
Your Nothing Homework (That's Not Homework)
Start where you are. If 30 seconds feels impossible, start with 10. If sitting still makes you want to scream, walk slowly with no destination.
Find your edge—the place where nothing feels uncomfortable but not impossible. Hang out there. Get curious about the discomfort. What's it protecting you from? What's it afraid will happen if you stop?
Then do nothing anyway. Not to prove a point. Not to achieve something. But because you're a human being, not a human doing.
And humans need nothing like plants need water—regularly, naturally, and without apology.
In the next chapter, we're going to tackle one of the hardest parts of nothing: doing it with other people. Because nothing gets really interesting when you add another human to the mix.
---