The Magic of Doing Nothing
Day 11: One Month of Magic
My most magical thoughts, poem or book ideas, and travel inspiration come to me while I do nothing: laying in the bubble bath, taking a slow walk, staring out the window. I used to be horrible at doing nothing. Overscheduled and overworked, I was convinced that productivity was important. Now I know that the best thoughts come when I let my mind wander.Â
Today, I invite you to engage in the magic of doing nothing. Try not to think of what you have to do; just give yourself three, five, or seven minutes, and let your mind wander. Dare to daydream. Let the mind unwind and exhale. See how your thoughts shimmer and shift.Â
Prompt: Do nothing for whatever length of time you decide. Write about the experience. How did it feel? What thoughts bubbled to the surface? Did you let your mind blow like a leaf in the wind, or was it caught in a loop? Describe how doing nothing felt. How might it feel if it became a practice? Why might you need nothing in your life?
One Month of Magic guidelines:Â
For the month of July, post a daily prompt to inspire magical thinking.Â
Read and respond to the prompt by writing for seven, seventeen, or seventy-seven minutes—whatever you like—exploring what it stirs inside you. That’s it. It’s easy and breezy and designed to make you consider things deeper to search for sparkle.Â
After you write, post your response in the comments section of that day's post (only available to paid subscribers). Offer feedback to at least two people. Celebrate and clarify what is magical about one another’s work. How it deepened your own awareness and awe.Â
Posts will NOT be emailed—don’t want to spam people—but they will be posted on chat. So, if you want a daily magical ping, turn the chat feature and notifications on. You can find how in your settings.Â
Doing nothing makes me fall asleep, lol. And I have really prompt-worthy dreams sometimes. Still working with the prompt from yesterday (and my buddy's prompt) about things we love about our lives:
The Bear Gulch bull looks like Trust. Never trust
a bull and his testosterone—my fourteen-
year-old self knew this. My adult self forgets. I texted
you things (but not all things)
that champagne my blood like streams
of glitter. No, you text back. List people you love
enough to cry—
not things. I respond: How can I rank my family
members? Who among queen
bees could I name best friend?
I’d tell you dogs
are better—even when they shake ditchwater
on my blue cocktail dress—and horses,
definitely horses. Unconditional acceptance. Not silly love letters.
Saturday Morning
After feeding the cats I slump back into bed.
The mattress is still warm from the night’s turning.
The sun is knocking on the window, asking for attention,
But I pull a spare pillowcase over my eyes.
With my closed eyes I reach for my husband’s hair, curling
its brown tendrils around the edge of his pillow.
It’s Saturday. I’ve done all
The writing for the week. Washed the dishes.
Like everyone in America we’ve worked so hard
To refill the bank account,
the cats’ water dish, the new bird feeder.
For now, nobody needs me, not even the cats
Who return from their kibble to jump back
Into bed with both of us, and curl up at our feet,
And started purring, like a reverse alarm clock
Lulling me back to sleep.
Everything they need is here.