The importance of being idle
It is easy to forget that you have the option to just… stop
For a long time, I’ve tried to live life in the fast lane – even occasionally overtaking on the central reservation – but it’s only recently that I’ve come to realise why.
Even when I was young, my parents would complain that I had ants in my pants. Apart from a rather unfortunate picnic, that wasn’t literally true, but I always had to keep moving. In college, out of college, even when I’m home, I just don’t feel right unless I’m doing something. As a consequence, I have an embarrassingly clean room. The really lurid secret is that I intentionally make a mess of it just so I can tidy up again.
At first, I thought I had been drugged. I feared someone had swapped my Canderel tablets for ProPlus pills. It was only after I added them to my double expresso, and my heart didn’t explode that I realised that I was safe. I didn’t sleep for a week but at least I was alive.
Next, I considered that maybe it was just a natural reaction. This world of ours is chock–full of so many awesome and amazing things and, given the finite amount of time that I have, I can’t afford to stop and smell the roses. I like to procrastinate in reverse – why do today what you could’ve done yesterday. Even in my pitifully small corner of the cosmos, there are so many interesting things to see and do that it would be a waste to let any of them slip by.
But that isn’t quite the whole of it.
There was one day last term where it finally clicked. Here is how I remember it. It starts at 7am with a morning full of medical student stuff – taking histories, drawing blood, avoiding Daily Mail reporters, then lunch with my girlfriend. Back to campus where I plaster everything that doesn’t move with posters for an upcoming event, dipping in and out of the library as I do so. Afterwards, I go to the gym to pump my (negligible) guns. I finally go home at 8pm, but still no rest for the wicked – or me. I help my house–mate prepare for a small group presentation. When he goes to write up, I ring home. Something of a mistake – my Mum could talk the hind legs off 2.3 metric Blackpools of donkeys. At 11pm, I finally sit down to dinner but my day is still not over – I still have an article to write for Felix and there is a rather immediate deadline looming. I sit down, do the research and write the piece until 2am.
Quite a full day by anyone’s measure. I have enjoyed every minute but it’s finally time for sleep. I’m just about to bed down with my nightcap and a glass of warm milk when something ticks over in my mind. It’s bin day tomorrow. Wearily, I trudge downstairs and out into the back garden to empty the bins.
And I stop.
It’s a clear night and the moon is full. The air is still and it seems like the whole world is quiet. The black bags and I are bathed in moonlight and I am genuinely awestruck by the serenity and stillness of the moment. It’s beautiful.
This is why I run up escalators. This is why I eat lunch standing up. This is why I appear in photos as a vague Rhys–shaped blur. It’s because in the constant buzz, the triumphant brass band, of the 25 hour life, it is easy to forget that you have the option to just…stop.
I highly recommend you try it some time. Take five minutes out of your busy schedules and enjoy a little slice of tranquillity.
