For 30 minutes last weekend, I did nothing. I had retreated to the woods of Minnesota hoping for renewal through community and yet, in the first exercise of the weekend, I was encouraged to do nothing. It wasn't encouragement to engage in leisure. It wasn't an opportunity to take a nap. It was an exercise in doing nothing...which is remarkably difficult for me.
It had been almost 15 years since I had sat in a chair as a (temporary) college dropout and just stared at the wall. At that point, I was heartbroken and hopeless, and the world had come to a crashing halt. For 15 years after crawling out of that hole, I had done everything in my power to do something. Anything, really. And often, everything. I was terrified by the nothing.
So, on Saturday, I retreated to my room, sat on the bed and did nothing.
For a couple minutes, I rambled through my worries - my kids' future, my wife and marriage, my family, and my health. I worked through my to-do lists - my clients, my current book's marketing, my next book's writing, my bills, my kids, my marriage. I counted the the wood beams and boards across my ceiling. I thought about how I would write this post. I did so many things.
At some point, though, my thoughts transitioned and the noise in my head began to quiet. I could hear the wind, the dogs down the block, and my own breath. I could feel the sun making its way across my room. I was rushed with a sense of gratitude that had nothing to do with fear or obligation, but with a simple sense of appreciation for all I had been given by my wife, children and family. I, at once, felt completely alone in my nothing and deeply connected to those around me. I felt comforted and comfortable.
In short, in the nothingness, I found some peace and a deep sense of possibility. And, what a gift it was.
Exercise for you: Set aside 30 minutes. Shut down all distractions. Just be.