As I recently complained (in my more topical, less analytical blog), taking a break seems to be an extraordinarily busy business... We frequently joke that "retirement" has meant we're busier than ever.

Of course, some of that busyness stems from the increased amount of time spent on physical maintenance (ie, the additional exercise and more nutritious diet that we postponed during our working lives, probably to our detriment, but now feel duty-bound to pay attention to, in order to ward off further trouble ahead).

And it is true that we now have a lot more control over our schedule. So the busyness is distinctly less stressful.

Nevertheless, I'm haunted by the feeling that this somehow wasn't what I sought...

I've not consciously been looking for advice, but awareness of need is a great magnet. So here's a little compilation of what I've gathered so far:

I owe to the inimitable Maria Popova my acquaintance with Pablo Neruda's wonderful poem "Keeping quiet":

"Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still...
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death...
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go."

Immensely resonant, no?

But how to achieve it?

A recent study "shows that daily periods of slowed activity, whether spent in meditation, unitasking, or simply being still or sleeping are as important for brain health and longevity as activity and exercise".



Strategies for "quietening" the brain include not only practising mindfulness and some kind of meditation or contemplation, but also intentionally incorporating slack time every day -- space in the day that's "not for X, Y, or Z, not for exercising, not for reading, but for unstructured time".



"Unstructured time". This is a theme I find frequently recurring in my reading these days, and I realize that I have far too little of it.

Popova has certainly grasped its importance. One of her "learnings" goes like this: "Build pockets of stillness into your life... The best ideas come to us when we stop actively trying to coax the muse into manifesting and let the fragments of experience float around our unconscious mind in order to click into new combinations." (She also recognizes that "presence is far more intricate and rewarding an art than productivity".)

Apparently the Dutch word "niksen" sums up this idea very nicely: it means "coming to a moment with no plan other than just to be", taking "conscious, considered time and energy to do activities like gazing out of a window or sitting motionless". This is not lazy or wasteful (resist the cultural prejudices that say it is). Rather, it's therapeutic.

If it makes you (read: me) feel better, know that it is actually a useful thing to spend the afternoon just chilling: "[T]he benefits of idleness can be wide-ranging... [D]aydreaming -- an inevitable effect of idleness -- 'literally makes us more creative, better at problem-solving, better at coming up with creative ideas'. For that to happen, though, total idleness is required... Niksen can help you solve problems as well. 'It takes you out of your mind, and then you see things clearly...'."

So what do we need to do? "Make time for doing nothing, and do it with purpose... Resist the culture of busyness... Reorganize your environment... [T]urn your home into a niksen-friendly area."

Hmmm. Perhaps we do need that balcony furniture, after all. Or maybe a beanbag...



A great place for doing nothing is apparently the forest. "Forest-bathing" is the literal meaning of the Japanese practice of "shinrin-yoku".

The aptly named Peter Wohlleben explains: "I often have really great thoughts and ideas when I'm in the natural environment -- precisely because I'm not working on any particular task. This purposelessness stimulates creativity immensely, as brain researchers have discovered."

And a tree-filled environment is particularly beneficial: "As soon as we enter a forest, our heart beats more quietly, our blood pressure drops, and fewer stress hormones circulate in our body. Leaves exercise their healing power even if we just look at them: green apparently has a calming effect on body and psyche."

But again, it's good to carry a bit of that "niksen" philosophy into the woods with you. As Wohlleben points out, many of us treat our visits to nature in the way we organize our everyday routines or our jobs. We have specific goals and "to-do" lists, and hack through the woods so fast that they become just a backdrop to our exercise. "Forest-bathing" means "slowing down..., putting our goals to one side, letting the moment at hand decide what the next moment will bring, and immersing ourselves in nature in a very individual way".





He advises taking a mat into the forest and spending an hour lying down under a tree. We will begin to feel and smell things differently, he suggests, and this input will have a calming effect on the brain.

In an extension that resonates with another recent theme of mine, he maintains: "Through the opening up of all the senses, through our careful perception of the environment, it becomes possible for nature to divulge what is perhaps its most important treasure: the insight that nothing in life is static, that everything is always in flux. Each state has its time, and does not last for ever."

I'm not entirely sure how "forest-bathing" translates into the tropical environment. To do the lying-under-the-tree thing, for sure you'd need your insect repellent, and a good supply of water (if you've not been in a tropical forest, you will hardly believe how humid it is). Depending on the location and the season, you'd need to keep a wary eye out for leeches and snakes...





But I understand where he's coming from. Walking through any forest, tropical or not, I inevitably find myself dwelling on the multiplicity of colours and textures, in a way that automatically starts to approach mindfulness. I need to learn the purposeless bit, though... I'm such a driven person that I don't yet quite know how to turn myself temporarily off.

Any creativity released by these practices needs to be channelled in a focused, rather than distracted, manner. This is the way to engage in genuinely productive "deep work".

This is a concept coined by Cal Newport. And it's interesting that he too notes that focus and "niksen" are two sides of the same coin. To do "deep work", paradoxically, you also need the ability to "embrace boredom": "[T]he ability to concentrate is a skill that you have to train if you expect to do it well. A simple way to get started training this ability is to frequently expose yourself to boredom. If you instead always whip out your phone and bathe yourself in novel stimuli at the slightest hint of boredom, you brain will build a Pavlovian connection between boredom and stimuli, which means that when it comes time to think deeply about something (a boring task, at least in the sense that it lacks moment-to-moment novelty), your brain won't tolerate it."

Interesting...

This author also advises quitting social media... I can't follow him down this route. Facebook is the only one I do, and I find it very helpful on a number of different levels. I could be more disciplined about how often and when I turn to it, though...

Another of his tips is to work on minimizing "shallow work" (anything that doesn't require uninterrupted concentration), and be very organized about how you dispatch what you can't get rid of. This will make room for more of the "deep work" that actually produces something creative.



Most of this stuff I just can't do yet. I stay mindful and contemplative for a few minutes, and then I lose it -- my brain hacking off like a dog chasing rabbits. I'm ridiculously goal-driven, even post-work. I find it difficult to balance the need for dolce far niente with the need not to sit too much.

My most successful technique to date is to focus on sounds. Today, by the riverside, for example. The call for Friday prayers was sounding from several mosques on both banks. A little boat was puttering along on the side opposite to where we stood. The palm trees to my left were rustling in the light wind.

In that brief moment, as I took that all in, I was mindful, and I was content, briefly, to just be, before re-engaging with the schedule, and pursuing the walk back.



Current failures notwithstanding, I intend to persist.

Popova again: "The myth of the overnight success is just that -- a myth -- as well as a reminder that our present definition of success needs serious retuning. As I’ve reflected elsewhere, the flower doesn’t go from bud to blossom in one spritely burst and yet, as a culture, we’re disinterested in the tedium of the blossoming. But that’s where all the real magic unfolds in the making of one’s character and destiny."

Let's continue to slowly, quietly blossom.