I always keep wondering why my indolence doesn’t prevent me from getting so much done and being so productive. A great article I just read has an answer:
Idleness is not just a vacation, an indulgence or a vice; it is as indispensable to the brain as vitamin D is to the body, and deprived of it we suffer a mental affliction as disfiguring as rickets. The space and quiet that idleness provides is a necessary condition for standing back from life and seeing it whole, for making unexpected connections and waiting for the wild summer lightning strikes of inspiration — it is, paradoxically, necessary to getting any work done.
I always feel like I need to conceal from people how much time I spend indulging myself and having fun. I even started to play the busyness game, too.
“I’m SO BUSY!” a colleague would complain.
“Me, too!” I say, trying to look appropriately miserable and exhausted. I feel bad about confessing that I spend hours blogging, reading, walking, cooking, taking baths, etc. and still have a lot of time left over to to get all of the work done.
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