The Mysterious Art of Doing Nothing
“You don’t know how to relax.” I was splayed across the sofa when my husband said it, so the sentence didn’t even make sense to me.
He said he knew it the first time we watched a movie together. We were in Galveston for a wedding ages ago, when we were still just friends, and I wanted to show him Say Anything since he’d never seen it before. I had seen it before, many times, so I sat on the floor and made a scrapbook while he watched the movie with respect and concentration from the couch. Vinny has reminded me of Lloyd Dobbler ever since. I am probably more Diane Court than I’d like to admit.
“Yeah, you can never just sit around and relax. You always have to be doing something productive. It’s just who you are.”
I mean, he’s not wrong. I do have a weird thing about sitting around too long without doing anything. It makes me feel kind of worthless, and frankly, a little depressed. I can do it for a little while, but a whole day of sitting around the house doing nothing but watching Netflix reminds me of having the flu. Vin compares me to a restless, yappy little dog; eventually I need to be taken outside for a walk.
This comes up now because we are officially on day one of our first ever “Staycation”. We’ve had some mixed ideas on how to spend this time. When prompted about what he wants to do, Vin will quickly say, “Nothing. I really want to do nothing.” Doing “nothing” sounds good to me for about an hour or so, but my time off is so precious that if I go back to work next Monday reporting that I did nothing, I’ll feel sad about it. I say, “Sure…yeah, but we’ve gotta do something out of the ordinary, right? Something to break up the monotony of our everyday work lives? Something fun!”
“Eh, I really want to do nothing. Maybe go to a movie or two.” Movies, unfortunately for my husband, are where I either scrapbook or fall asleep. My suggestions have been horseback riding in Van Cortlandt Park, perusing the Metropolitan Museum before having wine at the rooftop bar, and taking a quick day-trip upstate to go antiquing (immediately vetoed). I want to go somewhere great for Restaurant Week, have coffee and pastries at the little Italian bakery up the street, make homemade ice cream (chocolate malt and sage-lemon), take a crack at duplicating my friend Tara’s strawberry-rhubarb pie, and go bike riding somewhere, anywhere. I have a feeling Vin is going to read this blog post and run far far away.
But hopefully before he does, we’ll get a phone call from my dad, and when Vin is prompted to describe how he wants to spend our Staycation week, he’ll have the opportunity to say, “Sir, I just want to be with your daughter.”
It sounds so much sweeter than nothing.