Doing Nothing
Aries 3 // "resisting the attention economy" with birds and other small joys
I’ve been working on this post for 3 days, and I keep getting interrupted. And today I have two sick kids home from school, and of course they see different pediatricians so I had to run all over town to get prescriptions and meds and ice cream. Ah well, here’s my late post. Thanks to anyone reading. XO
It is hard for me to do nothing. For the first 10 years of parenthood I was home with my children, so now that they are all in school I often get asked “What are you doing with all that time?” Honestly, the same things I do when they are home but just with a bit more quiet. I still have washing and folding to do, phone calls to make and appointments to schedule (and then schlep them to), floors to sweep and groceries to buy. Add to that a digital landscape that is constantly fighting for my attention with news and updates and notifications, occasionally subbing at their school, and attempting to write anything here! The tasks of parenting (and life in general) are never-ending. At least when I do sit down, I have the decency to feel guilty about it.
I can blame gender roles, or capitalism’s deceptive promise of never-ending productivity, or evangelicalism’s toxic pressure to save everyone, or technology’s incessant stream of urgent notifications - but the truth is that everything in our modern world screams: “Go! Don’t stop! Check off that to-do list!” Which is why Jenny Odell’s book, How to Do Nothing, was irresistible to me.
A few years ago I remember sharing a meme that said something like, “Omg I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your email…we accidentally created a world where we have to keep track of 45 messaging apps at all times and I have brain fog because we’re still in the middle of a pandemic.” I remember thinking, wow - we accidentally created a world. No one is actually in charge here, we are just doing our best to navigate this new world that is being built up around us. An alarming epiphany.
Odell begins her book with a similar epiphany. “There may be a kind of engineer’s satisfaction in the streamlining and networking of our lived experience,” she admits, “And yet, a certain nervous feeling, of being overstimulated and unable to sustain a train of thought, lingers.” I understand this viscerally. After spending any amount of time online these days, I feel like I need a silent retreat1 to recover. I haven’t used Twitter or Facebook for a long time, and even Instagram - which I have truly loved - has become a mind-numbing stream of consciousness which leaves me overwhelmed and exhausted. First you scroll past a photo of a friend’s new baby, then a book by an author you love, followed by a reel about calming your nervous system, and then a detailed caption about a school shooting. A few swipes in and my train of thought is completely off the rails.
I like how Odell distinguishes in her book between being anti-technology and being “opposed to the way that corporate platforms buy and sell our attention…and its deliberately addictive features.” It was ironic to read this book as Substack rolled out the new Notes feature this week and I immediately felt a sinking feeling in my gut. Within days I’ve seen the *notifications* increase, and the trolls come out from under their bridges. There is just something about social media in its current form that makes me want to run for the hills2 - too much time online (and sometimes just a few minutes) makes my brain very unhappy.
Odell writes that it’s not just constant digital connection that bothers her, “it is the financially incentivized proliferation of chatter, and the utter speed at which waves of hysteria now happen online.” We dwell in “human, bodily time” but often online-time is incongruous - it’s not just about discerning what is true online, but what is “really real.” It’s exhausting. Watching horrible events unfold online (the 2016 election, the storming of the capitol, pizzagate, the list goes on) but being unable to discern the completely virtual from the really real is “fundamentally disturbing on a human phenomenological level.” This is one of the reasons why, for me, walking became a necessity. I had to put my feet on the real earth, lift my eyes and find birds and trees and clouds. Odell is an avid bird watcher too.
This week we enter the last decan of Aries3. We’ve walked through the Two and Three of Wands already and the Fours are our beautiful ending. In traditional decks, we see two figures standing under a canopy holding hands and celebrating. The canopy is made of four wands and understandably looks like a wedding chuppah, as this is a card of joy and respite. All week this card has felt to me like the antidote to the limitless connectivity of this accidental world. As Odell says, “Solitude, observation, and simple conviviality should be recognized not only as ends in and of themselves, but inalienable rights belonging to anyone lucky enough to be alive.” Yes!
When Odell asks the question: “What does it mean to construct digital worlds while the actual world is crumbling before our eyes?” She looks with an intense and critical eye at our systems of productivity - this accidental world. And she suggests that the problems our society faces like climate crisis, emotional disconnection, and rampant anxiety, will not be fixed by 24-hour news cycles or running away to the hills, but by resisting-in-place. She shifts the question from Will you or will you not participate in society, to How? This isn’t numb participation or escapism, but a third space: an “almost magical exit to another frame of reference…and unexpected harbor.” A space where we connect outward to the people and other beings around us, and downward into place. Bringing our attention and curiosity to our bodily experience on whichever corner of the planet we call home.
Another way to think about the Four of Wands is a celebratory milestone on a much longer, harder journey. It’s not the end of the journey (like the 10 of Wands) but a moment of ease along the way. In numerology, the 4s offer a moment of stability, they help us find our footing when we feel off kilter. The two people have crafted a hand-made structure to contain their momentary joy together. An impermanent structure that brings sweetness to the present moment. Here today, gone tomorrow. The canopy is a symbol - it reminds us we are loved and it helps us find the “really real.” T. Susan Chang calls this card a temporary refuge - I love the thought of finding ways to build unexpected harbors of connection and community in the midst of technological and social upheaval. I’m not going to stop doing laundry, or making dinner, or reading the news, but I can spend more time in the third space. This card asks, How am I being invited to play? Where can I take some time to unplug, not so that I can return with more productivity, but simply to enjoy being human for enjoyment’s sake. Can I lift my eyes and see/hear/be with the world around me? Where can I look to find the really real today?
Throughout the book, Odell writes about the impact our accidental world has on our wellbeing and society, but she also talks about strategies of resistance. She uses her experience as an artist and art educator to explore creative ways to expand and deepen our attention. Here are a few of my attempts to resist-in-place, I’d love to hear what inspires you to unplug, shift your attention, and make your own unexpected harbor.
Reading poetry, lighting candles. Why don’t I do this daily?? This poem by
spoke to me this week.Brewing sun-tea, and drinking it slowly in the garden.
Strolling through art museums, or arboretums, or botanical gardens…
Making food from scratch while listening to music (no audiobooks or news) and eating with the people I love.
Going for long walks (without earbuds) observing the trees as they change through the seasons. Right now I’m enjoying the display of different colored buds and catkins in my backyard!
Always bird-watching. This week I caught sight of a new friend in my yard, and I think I’ve identified him as a Hermit4 Thrush! He was doing more hopping than singing, but here is a video of their beautiful call.
I am a virgo, and the Hermit is the card associated with my birth. It fits.
Running for the hills is just what a good introvert likes to do (and why the Hermit card is one of my dearest friends) but I am also learning that connection may be the unexpected gift I need.
If you’re unfamiliar with astrological decans, you can read more here. Each 10 degrees around the zodiac corresponds with a unique tarot card, and I am using these as my writing guides. If you read the zodiac for personal growth, this is a way to break down the major signs into more specific personalities - so if your sun sign is in Aries, figuring out which decan you were born under would give you a little more insight/specificity. Similar to the enneagram subtypes, if you’re into that sort of thing.
The Hermit archetype is my favorite because it’s a reminder that solitude, quiet, reflection, and stillness are a necessary part of the human experience. I was tickled to find it again in this little bird’s name.
Beautiful post Lindsey. It takes constant practice to do nothing. I know for me, I feel guilty or lazy when I am not going a million miles per hour. It’s so strange what’s become of our attention spans and unfortunate that the more we consume, the less we know ourselves.
I thoroughly enjoyed this piece as someone who struggles to allow himself do nothing and who often gets too caught up in the online world - this was a breath of fresh air. Thank you