wasting time
“Wasting time” might be one of the strangest accusations we’ve ever invented.
Apparently, I can waste an entire afternoon by sitting outside and doing nothing.
Which is funny because the afternoon was going to pass anyway.
The sun was going to move. The earth was going to rotate. Four o’clock was going to become five whether I answered emails, cleaned the house, learned something useful, or sat under a tree staring at absolutely nothing.
But somewhere along the way, we decided that if those hours weren’t converted into something, they were wasted.
Money. Errands. Progress. Exercise. Knowledge. Something crossed off a list.
There has to be something to show for it.
And I think that’s why even rest has become strangely productive.
We don’t just sleep. We get eight hours so we can function better tomorrow.
We don’t just go for a walk. We get our steps in.
We don’t just have hobbies. They improve our mental health, teach us a skill, give us something to make or collect or eventually become good at.
Even doing absolutely nothing gets called “recharging,” which I find kind of funny.
Like I’m a phone.
Like the only acceptable reason for doing nothing today is because I promise to be useful again tomorrow.
I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to use our time well. If anything, knowing that my time is limited makes me care about how I spend it even more.
I just wonder why using it well became synonymous with having something to show for it.
Some of the nicest hours of my life have produced absolutely nothing.
Sitting somewhere long after I finished eating because the conversation was good.
Lying in bed with my cats when I could’ve gotten up.
Looking out a window during a long drive.
Taking too long to drink something because I liked where I was sitting.
None of those hours improved me.
I didn’t learn anything.
I didn’t make anything.
Nobody paid me.
Sometimes I don’t even remember what I was thinking about.
And yet, I have a hard time calling them wasted.
Maybe time doesn’t always need to become something else in order to be worth having.
Maybe an afternoon can just be an afternoon.
I can sit somewhere nice for an hour and let absolutely nothing come from it.
The hour will pass.
So will every hour I spend being productive.
And eventually, so will I.
Which makes me think maybe the real waste would be spending an entire life believing every minute of it had to earn its keep.