On Doing Nothing

Life is absurd and complicated.

Sometimes, the only way to make sense of it is to complicate it even further and to celebrate the mess that comes out as a result. A roundabout way of arranging our possessions may not be sensible, but it may give the day-to-day a bit of extra color.

The negative space between the swatches can be part of the palette, and the combination of two colors can create a third one, as in the illustrations that accompany this text. Likewise, books aren’t isolated containers of information; they talk and argue with each other, and change their tone and pitch according to the order in which they are examined.

It’s borderline impossible to see things clearly while we are frustrated with the results.

Approaching a large project in small doses allows plenty of time for structural and conceptual links to pop up on their own, instead of being forced out of the brain with rusty garden pliers.

As with other forms of doing nothing, shushing ourselves is borderline impossible, which doesn’t mean it isn’t worth a try: attempting to silence our thoughts can bring out subtler movements, concealed in daily rhythms.

Luckily for us, such exactitude is only possible in fiction, and the maps we construct in our minds are destined to be imperfect, and therefore unique. These maps can be detailed or abstract; they may not even look like maps by any given standard. When we set out without purpose, our inner cartographers not only draw their own maps; they also come up with a set of tools, symbols, and signs.

If we allow ourselves an hour for walking without purpose, the joy of exploration will show the way.

A quiet walk is an opportunity to get lost in the interweaving patterns of our minds and travel to the corners of known and unknown universes without the inconvenience of building a spaceship.

TO GET LOST ON PURPOSE is to abandon all purpose.