Introduction
I had the whole weekend to myself. Dave flew home for some well-deserved time with his family, and I made exciting plans to fill the empty space.
All my time was mine, and I was going to spend it hiking Mount Greylock. This summit is in the Berkshire region, which is the epicenter of fall foliage in New England and just a 3-hour drive from Boston. Weeks ago, I decided that I was going to summit the mountain, celebrate how capable I am, and reward myself with great food at a cozy, family-owned diner.
Sounds like a great plan, right? Well, I didn’t do it (whoops).
I love hiking, and I love solo travel. I had the perfect chance to do both, but simply did not want to. I woke up tired and burnt out after all the excitement of this summer. Lately, I’ve felt Autumn setting in and have had a strong desire to hibernate. So, instead of doing something more conducive to a travel blog, I listened to my body and spent this weekend resting. I moved very little, and it was just as glorious as my would-be adventure.
The Sweetness of Doing Nothing
Now, I derive a certain exhilaration from doing nothing. Moments like these are short breaks from the norm of to-do lists and social engagements.
I had two full days to myself: just sitting on my couch, basking in the fleeting Autumn sun, and savoring each bite of a crisp apple. I also soaked in this apartment, which we will be saying goodbye to in a few short months. I listened to the creaks in the wood floor and watched the clouds shapshift until they were clouded by dusk. I celebrated the empty space and let my imagination wander to fill it, rather than my ambitions.
On the surface, you may be tempted to think I wasted this weekend. Afterall, I bailed on the chance for a solo trip that I’ve been wanting to do. I ignored the expectations of my past self, but I gained so much from those two days of nothing.
Luckily, I learned early on in my life that simplicity and lack of expectation breeds an immense appreciation. I discovered a definition for this feeling by looking back to my Italian roots: il dolce far niente (“the sweetness of doing nothing”).
I first noticed il dolce far niente when I was a child. I think most kids are experts in this and don’t even need a name for it. In pre-adolescent bliss, I would bask in long, summer days and spend hours on the back patio sipping iced tea, watching birds fly to and from their nests and bunnies slurp up long strands of grass. Back then, I had nothing to do and nowhere to be. With the privilege of free time, I simply existed.
Moments like that are more rare now than they were when I was in elementary school, but they taste just as sweet. Now, with all the distractions and demands of modern adult life, this feeling really only comes up when I travel or, like this past weekend, when I intentionally carve out extended periods of time.
But why? Why do so many of us feel like we need an excuse like travel to embrace the beauty of life’s simplest moments? Why do we only stop to watch the sunlight when we are looking at it from the coast of an exotic city? Because, and I promise you, it’s always going to be worth stopping to look up.
I often trap myself with self-imposed expectations and fall victim to the temptation of optimizing every aspect of my life. I know a lot of us feel ridiculous, even anxious, when we do nothing. We have been conditioned to do as much as possible and to derive our worth from how many tasks we can check off each day.
Moments of il dolce far niente appear insignificant or unreasonable, but they fulfill me in a way that inspires me to be my ambitious self. Like other forms of mindfulness, il dolce far niente enables balance. (Why hello, inner yogi).
Conclusion
For as much as I love to go, go, go - to travel, move, mingle, and try new hobbies - I also love to do nothing.
I want to grab my life by the horns because I’m so grateful to be alive. I know that it’s thanks to il dolce far niente, that I can do so in a sustainable way.
So I encourage you to lean into il dolce far niente. See where your mind goes when you let it wander freely. Observe what the stillness allows you to learn about yourself. Taste how sweet nothing can be.