By Joy Mazzola, Owning Pink
I knew this would happen. Or, actually, it’s been happening, in little peek-a-boo bursts since I entered the nothing. The other day I felt overwhelmed by it.
This feels awesome
I’m loving doing nothing, more than I ever thought I could. For example, today I woke up after nine. I meditated. I drank coffee, caught up on e-mails, cooked (actually cooked) breakfast, and then headed out on an hour-long walk. I walked the dog for another 15 minutes after that, talked to my mom on the phone, took a nice shower, made a big lunch, and ate it at the dining room table reading a Tom Robbins novel. Before I sat back down at my computer I made big mug of licorice tea and had enjoyed three giant, farmer’s-market strawberries smeared with Nutella – the dessert served to the friends we had over for dinner last night.
These are how most days go. And I love it. Did I mention I love it? I LOVE it. I’m not bored. It feels right and healthy, if indulgent. I’m hoping it’s fertilizing the ground for something but honestly, if it never did, I think I’d be okay living this way into the foreseeable future. I’ve tossed around ideas of officially becoming a “homemaker.” I’ve wondered how I’d do as a monk. I’m trying to find a box for whatever this is. A defined role — something I can put in the “occupation” space on my tax forms or could at least explain to people (since the nuance of my speech from a month ago, “I’m giving myself some room to figure things out blah blah blah,” has become stagnant and doesn’t interest even me anymore). Something that contributes to the spinning of the planet. Right now I feel like the Hugh Grant character in the movie About A Boy. “What do you do?” people ask him. “Nothing,” he replies. “I do nothing.” Confused, bewildered, they turn and talk to someone else nearby. He doesn’t care. And neither do I. But…
It just seems wrong
I mean, I know people do this all the time – take extended hiatuses without knowing what the next move is. But that’s generally because they’re utterly burnt out from working 80 hours a week at soul-sucking jobs (which, in my mind, not only justifies their time off, but also provides financial padding enough to subsist for a few months sans income). Or some crisis has befallen them and the thought of participating in life in any conventional way is out of the question – and makes them immune to questioning. Neither of these is true for me. And yet I was called to stop anyway. Called to take this time. I guess I just thought that the time would … lead somewhere. That I’d know something by now. That I’d be on the track or the path or that the North Star would have appeared. I didn’t think the woods would continue to get darker.