I am one of those people who always has a plan. I make plans for my plans. I don’t think we’re born thinking about service and success—all we hope to achieve—but I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t.
My idea of success has changed dramatically over the years, shifting from something outside of me, defined by others, to something internal I can only find for myself. Since leaving the corporate world in 2017, it’s felt like I’m hacking a path through dense underbrush with a machete, my final destination unclear. Yet I push towards it. I berate myself for not getting there faster and sooner.
In March I was rejected from a program I hoped would define my next step and everything to come. As someone who studied opera, of all things, for ten years, someone who entered the job market at the height of the recession, and someone not afraid to take risks, I am cozy with rejection. Laughably cozy, even. I understand making it through a selection process involves dodging variables and no small amount of luck.
But this time felt different. All signs kept pointing towards this particular thing. Each connection I made sparked new potential, and conversations with administrators got my hopes up.
As a result I became invested and spent countless hours willing it to happen. I imagined my life in the program and what I’d do on the other side. I was propelled by purpose and direction until one day, in an email, my hopes were dashed.
“There weren’t enough spots for all qualified applicants,” those administrators said when I reached out. “Many people deferred for the pandemic, which limited our capacity this year.” I couldn’t tell if that made me feel better.
I retreated into recalibration mode and asked the usual questions. Why? Where did I go wrong? What now? I reached out to friends, oscillating between confusion and despair. Right away I started planning another application.
But then I did something unprecedented: I let myself off the hook.
For a month now I’ve embraced a new sense of aimlessness. Like what should I do today kind of aimlessness. Like of course I have time to get groceries and go to the hardware store. Like telling friends for the first time, I puttered around the garden this week.
Maybe I needed this, I realize. Maybe I’m languishing. Either way, it’s refreshing af.
In a culture that encourages, among other things, checking email 74 times a day—a 2014 number that’s definitely grown—maybe we could all benefit from a little puttering. Sensing this, Germany and France made it illegal to contact employees on vacation in recent years. If anyone emails the staff at Daimler, a German automaker, while they’re out of office, their notes will automatically self-destruct.
What if we normalized doing nothing? No guilt or second-guessing. Just giving ourselves time and space to be human, to move at a less frenetic pace. We already know boredom is essential to creativity, so the benefits of doing nothing shouldn’t come as a surprise. Burnout culture be damned.
Here’s the thing about my aimless April. The work that needed to be done still got done. I know what projects I’m focusing on next and even took an interview. But I’m no longer clawing towards the next thing, and for the first time in my adult life, I took myself out of the pressure cooker and put my ambition on the counter to cool.
Yes, the world needs help—but it isn’t going anywhere. Releasing my energy towards—well, nothing in particular—has brought renewed ease and pleasure to my life. I’m planting native pollinators everywhere like a wannabe retiree. Without meaning to I started cooking again, making food up as I go. I am definitely laughing more.
Relieving my brain of its self-inflicted need to push forward created more space for everyday joy. Aimless might be the wrong word, but for me—someone chronically preoccupied with forward motion, making progress, and doing something with my life—it feels just right.
Between you and me—
Special thanks to those of you who reached out about last week’s piece. We are living in uncomfortable times, but I’m glad we are doing it together.
Oxford defines “puttering” as occupying oneself in a desultory but pleasant manner, doing a number of small tasks, or not concentrating on anything in particular. Doesn’t that sound nice? It also sounds like a privilege. Here’s your invitation to turn some screens off and give it a try.
WE’RE ALL FRIENDS HERE is written by Lauren Maxwell. If you enjoy this newsletter, please consider supporting it in some way. You can become a sponsor, click the heart, share online, or forward to a friend. Thank you so much!
As usual, I love your message! I have been puttering since I left my job at the end of 2020. It has been an amazing experience for me - 4 months of doing whatever moves my spirit each day. Thank you for your post and I know that there are bright things ahead for you - if you choose to take them!
Lauren, this is exactly what a friend and I were talking about this morning. I, the planner, planning my plans, and she, delightfully and enviably, today, completely unplanned. (until remembering an agreed upon obligation, but even forgetting that is telling...) I suppose my plans for today could be defined as profoundly productive puttering, at least that's what I hoped for, in two specific areas: my home office and my studio. So, right now, I'm in neither place. The home office looks worse than it did before I started puttering, and the studio has yet to be visited. However, I've had a lovely snack, taken an hour nap, gone down the driveway for the mail, and read your newsletter. Best laid plans... Thank you for your diversion and for "We're All Friends Here," always.