While out for a bike ride on Indiana’s country roads, I spied a young Amish boy sitting quietly around the corner of a barn. His back pressed against the building, he was tucked safely out of sight, and wisely in the shade. His face was mostly blank, except for a tiny bit of guilt as he cast his eyes downward as though looking away rendered him invisible to the rest of the world. I had to smile as we pedaled past. I recognized that look. He was hiding out, shirking his responsibilities. He likely continued to do so until a parent discovered him or he became concerned that his absence would be noticed if he didn’t return.
As one who grew up on a farm, I can relate. Child labor laws were largely unheard of, or ignored. It was a family farm, for goodness’ sake. All members had work to do; there were chores to be done. As we passed by the boy, I thought, “Been there, done that.” And like this little guy, there were days when I just wanted a break. I once hid under my bed pretending to be asleep in hopes my dad would spare me the 5 a.m. wake up call to milk the cows. No such luck! He dropped to his knees, peeked under the bed and without missing a beat said, “Get out from under there. It’s time to go.”
Sometimes, I still do an adult version of hiding out. Occasionally, you just need a break from the activity, the people, the stress. Like a pause or recess, our soul clamors for a few moments of disengagement when we can let the mind wander, and imagine a few new things. When I was employed as a dean, my calendar was usually packed. I found it important to regularly have some unscheduled time when I could sit back, put up my feet, and do nothing for a few minutes. Those occasions provided a break from the stresses of the moment. They allowed for a clearing of my mind and resetting of my focus. But more importantly, they allowed time for creative imaginings to resurface and take priority. Without those moments, my job performance as well as my well-being would suffer.
In the first several months after retiring from that work my calendar had a lot of intentionally unscheduled time. Really, I hardly had a schedule at all. My fatigue was deep. My weariness was not satisfied by one good night’s sleep; it needed time for restoration. Plus, it was necessary to sort out how I wanted to spend my time now that a job no longer dictated my schedule. In the mornings, after brewing a pot of coffee, I’d make my way to the front porch where I sat in my grandpa’s old rocker. There, I sipped the roast of the day and absorbed the views around me. Blessed quiet ministered to my soul. I offered prayers for any who came to mind. On occasion, I read. A 20 oz cup of coffee could last from about 7 a.m. to 11 a.m. Only after savoring that final drop was I ready to tackle whatever was next. Days turned to weeks, which stretched into a few months. As time passed, the needed front porch time gradually shortened.
Without question that time was restorative and transformational. In the heat of the moment we often fail to realize the accumulated toil that life’s demands have upon us. Still, I confess that after a while I began to wonder if I should feel bad about this unscheduled time. Was I, in fact, wasting time? We have one life to live, a limited number of days on this earth. Shouldn’t I be busy? Productive? Working toward identified goals? Using my God-given gifts for their intended purposes? Enough of this lollygagging!
This is not an occasion where a simple “yes” or “no” answer to those questions suffices. To the casual observer, doing “nothing” can appear to be a colossal waste of time. In fact, that is far from the case. There is plenty going on behind the scenes. In The Molecule of More, as the authors move toward their conclusion, they note the current phenomenon of adult coloring books. Some may view them as a silly waste of time. Although there is no practical reason to engage in the activity, the authors suggest adult coloring provides relief from stress and helps those who use them to regain a sense of balance in their lives. Whether or not crayons are involved, I believe that is the value of so-called wasted time. It provides relief. It restores balance. It allows opportunity for imagination and creativity to take you down paths otherwise left untraveled. In the process it prepares and positions you for other and perhaps even better things ahead.
These thoughts took me back to a moment from several years earlier, when a server stood patiently waiting for us to decide our lunch selections. It was a difficult choice. The menu was packed with interesting dishes, many of which were unavailable back home. This venue was a distinctive looking white building with black shutters somewhere in the heart of the Charleston, SC area known as “South of Broad.” To be considered a true Charlestonian by the locals, it was necessary to live south of Broad Street, or so we were told. North of that point, you were a poser.
Apparently, the server studied us while we reviewed the menu. In a calm and somewhat charming way, he blurted out to Judi, “I’ll bet you are an Aquarius, aren’t you?” She answered in the affirmative. Obviously pleased with himself, he smiled and said, “I knew it! You just look so balanced!” It is true that she doesn’t tip over easily! And twice she has even successfully balanced an egg on the head of a small nail at the Equator (whereas I was unable to do so!). To this day, we occasionally wonder exactly what our server meant by that his balanced remark and what led him to that conclusion. For the record, she also enjoys coloring, so he may be on to something!
Words like balance and even harmony are well suited to join the “wasting time” conversation. Even if there is not a practical reason or obvious value to taking your “foot of the gas” or “your shoulder from the grindstone,” indulge yourself. What appears to accomplish nothing in fact prepares us to be solid citizens capable of keeping our peace or embracing new insights or launching new initiatives. Wasting a little time may be a difference maker, separating mediocrity from excellence and avoiding burnout in the process. As the young Amish boy probably learned, you can’t stay disengaged forever, but every now and then, a little time out can improve the day, which then begs the question, “Is any time ever really wasted?”
