Doing Nothing: guest blog by Thomas D. Raher

Doing nothing is nearly oxymoronic, because it implies the absence of action. Herein lies the conundrum: there is a great deal of activity, mostly mental, involved in doing nothing.

And don't you love the sound of doing nothing? It's quite melodious. Actually the sound of the words themselves, doing nothing, is the first of many thoughtful diversions in the art of doing nothing. Just imagine the time spent comfortably applying musical references, sounds, songs, rhymes, even visualizing dance routines, to the fluid "ing" "ing" of doing nothing. I think you're getting the gist, or at least this simple example may set the tone for my explanation.

I've had just cause to try, however ineptly, to define doing nothing. The notion began harmlessly after I retired from regular, daily employment, Friends, relatives, acquaintances and strangers on the street, would ask, somewhat bewildered, "what do you do now?" What do I do now? Well my first reaction, being of a slightly confrontational nature, was to reply, "whatever I damn well please, thank you very much!" But I realized those good folks asking were generally curious, as most were of my age: retirement loomed and they were confused. I'd observed over time, work colleagues, as well as the average Joe, whether a bank executive or a lineman for the county, all stigmatized themselves by the belief that what they did for a living defined them. Their self-induced identity was job-related, hence their consciousness, their sense of self, was chained unrealistically to their professional status.

I first and foremost realized separation from the mental identity of the working me was crucial in the transition to a new and better me, where anxiety plays a lesser role. But I also found that people's habits aren't easily changed or discarded: this realization is a critical phase in the passage from doing something to doing nothing. All I can say at this juncture is the more nothing you do, the easier it becomes. Doing nothing can take all day if you don't try to hard.

There's another rather pertinent aspect to doing nothing, which is linked to the work related identity crisis identified above, and that is guilt. Our Judeo-Christian culture is steeped in guilt. There's guilt for most everything we do, guilt for not coming to a complete stop, guilt for not saying "I love you," guilt for calling in sick, guilt for oogling that beautiful woman, and the guilt goes on. And guilt, perhaps the greatest guilt, is feeling guilty for doing nothing, for not producing. But why?

I truly believe people wake up in the morning and think to themselves, if I don't do something my day is wasted. They feel guilty. Here's what I differ. In my long and happy journey to acheive nothing, or at least to do nothing, I've eliminated guilt. Some days it takes a good long while disassociating guilt with anything I'm not doing. I began to make doing nothing into an art form: my days not wasted because what I do or don't do is guilt free. This concept allows a certain freedom--a freedom to open my mind and absorb, of letting the world in through silence, solitude, through the act of doing nothing! My senses became more alive. The "ings" of living, seeing, listenind, feeling, yes loving--these action are the essence of doing nothing. My point of course is that doing nothing is full of action. The key then is learning, acknowledging, accepeting the reality of the moment, the doing it, being it, enjoying it.

When I make coffee in the morning I recognize it's only the beginning of my doing nothing. I have the good fortune, knock on wood, to live on a corner, with floor to ceiling windows. This particular environment is invaluable to doing nothing. I can spend an entire morning, and afternoon if I so choose, staring at a moveable feast, to use another author's fine line, out the window. Watching the parents walking their children to school, staring at the regular dog walkers, and making sure their dogs don't poop on my stretch of sidewalk, checking out the senior ladies marching back and forth on their exercise walk, or, and most befuddling, watching the car-parkers trying to squeeze again and again into a space too small. Often after a good long sampling of these endeavors, my mind searches the vault of memory for corresponding experiences. I relive walking to school, the proverbial mile in the snow. I can remember the wild Weimaraner we had, who strew the neighbors garbage all over the alley, I relive parallel parking with ease, to the astonishment of the officer monitoring the driving exam, all this through doing nothing. I say, time well spent.

If guilt-free thinking still seems less than adequate for doing nothing, there's the act of walking, which I consider to be doing nothing in motion. I will meander to the bank, well not really for there's no need to anymore, to the deli, or to the post office. I always carry my iPhone which is, I admit, addicting. I especially use the camera to record and share interesting and unique visuals of our beautiful city. These meanderings can zig and zag leading me nowhere in particular, but when I return home I'm full of wonder--the wonder of doing nothing. And as the day wanes like the winter moon, I'm aware I haven't even read the next chapter of the more than a few novels I have at arm's length, or tuned into the intriguing detective series I love on cable tv. You see, there is more of nothing that I can save for tomorrow and the tomorrows after that. Doing nothing is time consuming and endless if only you embrace it.

I've found as I age and my world shrinks, doing nothing can actually expand the world, the world that matters most to me, the world in my head, my mind.

Living

learn-ing

stand-ing

stare-ing

listen-ing

laugh-ing

sing-ing

touch-ing

love-ing

think-ing

walk-ing

feel-ing deeply

You get the picture, doing nothing is not doing nothing!

As Sam Wainwright said, "See ya in the funny papers!"

The Autobiography of Thomas D. Raher:

I'm a life-long union worker and an Army Veteran. When I stand up I lean to the left. Most importantly, humor floats our family boat. I'm retired, old, and struggle with the unconditional joy of being a grandfather. Old and Lucky! Hmmmm!

Mr. Raher lives in San Francisco. His book, "Letters from a Working Stiff," is available from Lulu. Lulu.com