The Art of Leisure: Why Doing Nothing Matters

Sunday morning. I wake up chipper. My twelve-pound dog, Dunkin, is still sleeping, his snore like a whistle. I have about twenty minutes until he wakes up and paws at my chest, his way of telling me he needs to go on a walk. Until then, I enjoy the thinness of my apartment walls. My elder neighbor to the left is usually up at this time, doing her at-home morning workout. I hear light taps, footsteps back and forth. “I have to get my steps in!” she tells me often. 

I enjoy the thinness of my apartment windows, too. My place faces a quieter block, but I can still hear the sibilance of cars as they pass; I know the louder sounds must be the bus. Before Dunkin wakes up, I can probably finish a chapter or two of the book I’m reading. This is my morning today, and these are my mornings, often. There is beauty in the routine. And I cling to it. Not with a grip that’s so tight my hands begin to hurt, but with a clasp like a cross-body purse. These days are close to me, but I can still move freely. 

I cling to it because so much of the world insists that ease is irresponsible. Because the older I get (and I am 25 now), the more I’m told that comfort must be earned or justified. Mornings like this are framed as accidental or indulgent, when to me, they are essential to my wellbeing. My leisure is the part of the day where I am most in tune with myself, before corporate productivity begins to take over my brain. I know not everyone has the luxury of slow mornings, but even in smaller moments, I think we’re rarely encouraged to protect rest at all.

But this corporate evil twin isn’t just a personal problem (any Severance watchers here?). Somewhere between school and full-time work, we change, almost against our will. Corporations demand growth year after year, and we are expected to become the physical embodiment of verbs like leverage and optimize. Eventually, that logic bleeds into our time off.

The language around routine is described in the most aggressive and corporate confines. You must wake up four hours before your office job in order to maximize your time and full potential. After your shift, the work is still not over - your day is null if you do not go to the gym directly afterward. Are you sleepy? Good. Only successful people are tired. “Lazy people have energy,” we’re told.

And sure, perhaps I am leaning into the drama of virtual life coaches and the like, but my sentiment stands strong. Rarely are people shown what a healthy balance of routine looks like, when prioritizing ease, too. And rarely is it shown that your routine can be your rest. My mornings do not feel like a heavy load, and they are intentionally designed that way. I am not optimizing myself; I am easing into the world. Before the inevitable adult tasks of the day take over, I let myself be present, observant, and unhurried. My free time should not feel like an extension of my obligations… heavy and meticulously curated. It should feel like mine.

It might feel comical to pencil “relax” into your calendar for three hours, or schedule time to “vibe,” but I do think it’s worth reconsidering how we view the leisure we’re allotted. What does your free time look like when it isn’t optimized or accounted for? 

For me, it looks like stillness. It looks like appreciating how undemanding my thoughts can be, and knowing there is real value in a routine that is made to be, well, simple.