I did Nothing today—and it was fabulous

A note about the joy of unproductivity.

I’ve had a bit going on—studying, writing, working, mumming. One perk of being a co-parent is that I get some time to myself. But like a productivity-brainwashed fool, I’ve been using it to cook, clean, work and ‘get ahead’. 

However after an epic tantrum in my kitchen over bins and maggots—embarrassingly, by me—I realised I needed a day off. A day when I woke up and thought: I don’t have to do anything today. 

So I gave myself a ‘Nothing Day’—an unabashedly unproductive day. (My mother’s worst nightmare.)

I didn’t do anything ‘productive’—except change my sheets, because I love fresh sheets. I read and drank coffee in bed until 10.30am. I cooked homemade hashbrowns and built a fire, then ate said hashbrowns on the floor in front of the fire. I laid on the couch and watched The Kardashians. (I know—but it’s my Nothing Day.) I reheated all my subsequent meals. I didn’t get dressed. I did NOTHING. And it was fabulous—unashamedly unproductive. 

Society is obsessed with productivity—multitasking, hustling, monetising. It’s an endless cycle of getting more stuff done in less time; ticking more things off endless to do lists; fixing this, sorting that; doing more, more, MORE.

Sometimes a gal needs to jump off the productivity treadmill to lay on the couch, learning why Kim thinks Khloé needs to get out of Hidden Hills and just ‘live her life!’—while you live yours, unbathed and eating Mint Slices.

Doing ‘nothing’ isn’t the evil we make it out to be. Some sort of weird self criticism: ‘Oh, I did nothing today.’ It’s not something to be avoided at all costs; it’s a joy. And, for me, it’s necessary.

As a single parent, everything is on you. Cooking dinner, bathing and bedtime, paying the bills, having enough money to pay the bills, and, of course, taking the bins out. At night, my ‘me’ time is spent ensuring our house doesn’t resemble the apartment of the messy girl Ross dated.

I’m very blessed to have parents who help—but I still need a day sometimes. A day of glorious nothing—where I can take to the bed, rot away on the couch eating Thai Chilli & Lime chips, and wear my pyjamas until I change into cleaner pyjamas.

I’m not someone who can do things seven days per week, every week—I take my hat off to anyone who can. And I know some people don’t get a day off—my heart truly breaks for you. (Also: they invented sick days for a reason.)

But as I stand here, hatless and heartbroken, I’m telling you that I need Nothing Days. I desperately need them so I have the energy to ‘hide’ from ‘dinosaurs’ twenty thousand times per day. I need them so I can keep putting food on the table—both literally and metaphorically. I need them so I don’t have tantrums in the kitchen over a few measly maggots. 

Unproductiveness gets a brad rap—it needs to fire it’s current PR team and hire whoever’s doing matcha’s PR. Being uproductive is utterly fabulous. A day with nothing to do but read, watch, sit and think; the perfect antidote to a busy life. 

A ‘Nothing Day’—try it sometime.