Do. Nothing.

When’s the last time you really allowed yourself to step back and just do nothing? When’s the last time you put your calendar down, intentionally didn’t set a morning alarm, and told your ever-growing “to do” list to kindly bleep off?

If you’re anything like me, it has probably been a while.

And it’s also probably about damn time you do something about it.

Our society values work. It values efficiency. Hustle. Drive. We praise productivity and champion progress, and yet we do so without fully examining the shadow side of these lauded behaviors and traits. Yes, work is important, and it often fosters ingenuity and drives critical change. But what happens when we over index on work to the point where everything else in our lives – friends, family, health, passions – necessarily shrink just so we can stay competitive? We so often wear “busyness” as a badge of honor: The more hours we work, the less vacation we take, and the more ambiguously we blur work and life (so that it really just becomes “work”), the better. The ones who do this well win praise and attention. They are the workaholics, they are the overachievers, they are the “successful” ones.

But what are they winning, really?

And, perhaps more importantly, what are they losing in the process?

Now don’t get me wrong: I am a huge proponent of working hard. In fact, I can definitively say that hard work and resilience are two of my core values. These are the tenets I pride myself in and hold myself accountable to in all facets of life. And they also quickly become my catalysts for anger and resentment when I feel others aren’t demonstrating these values and living up to their half of the bargain.

So don’t be fooled: I love hard work. And I am nothing if not resilient. But I’m also learning that these values, these lenses on life, can’t be the sole – or even primary informants – of how I choose to carry out my days. Because if I’m always working hard, and I’m always striving, and I’m always checking off the to do list and making sure I’m efficient… Then what is it all ultimately for?

Where is the play? Where is the fun? Where is the sheer joy and careless abandon?

In other words, where are the opportunities to slow down, take a step back from it all, and just be? Where are the pockets of nothingness that I can lose myself in and ultimately come out feeling more found, whole, and ultimately me?

I’ve recognized that the older I get the more quiet I crave. And no, I’m not talking about complete and utter silence. Rather, I’m referring to an oasis, a reprieve from all the hustle and bustle and all the raucous noise of everyday life. There are so few places in our modern world where we can truly escape and lose ourselves in this type of beautiful nothingness, so when we unexpectedly find a hidden pocket, it is our responsibility to invest in ourselves and seize the moment.

This is what fishing has become for me over the last couple years: An opportunity to quiet my mind, invest in myself, and seize the moment. Now you might be thinking to yourself, “fishing? I didn’t expect that.” And, truth be told, I didn’t either. While I love getting outside and being on the water, I’ve also been a vegetarian for more years of my life than not, and I cringe at the thought of hurting – let alone killing – animals. Those criteria alone would reason to make Katie and fishing entirely incompatible. And yet, there’s something I absolutely love about it.

Maybe it’s losing yourself in the possibility of it all, giving yourself to the moment without quite knowing what all comes next.

Maybe it’s listening to the cool blue waves as they gently lap against the shore, sonically entrancing you with their rhythmic hum.

Maybe it’s the calm quiet and utter stillness of your surroundings, allowing you to change up your scenery and reconnect once again with your own thoughts.

Maybe it’s some version of all of these things, and maybe it’s something more, but I can tell you with vivid clarity that it’s definitely this: I love fishing because it gives me permission to do absolutely nothing at all.

When I’m fishing, I’m not working hard. I’m not achieving. I’m not checking items off my to-do list and plotting world domination[1]. When I’m fishing, I’m not worried about success, I’m not caught up in comparison, and I certainly don’t fear missing out on anything but a curious little nibble at the end of my line. When I’m fishing, I’m doing nothing. And, in doing nothing, I find that suddenly everything makes itself available to me. Suddenly I’m more alert. Suddenly I’m better tuned in and more deeply connected to what’s immediately around me. Suddenly I’m able to view the world with a vibrant newness and reenergized sense of clarity. Suddenly I’m fully alive.

I swear I *caught* them, I just don’t want to *touch* them. Makes sense, I know.

I love the now-popular mantra that “we can do hard things[2].” This sentiment is so motivating. It’s so empowering. And it makes me feel so capable and whole. We can overcome barriers. We can tune out negativity and beat the odds. We can do hard things: We can do them! And we will.

But lately I’ve started to wonder: Just because we can do hard things, does it mean we always should?

Not everything in life needs to be an uphill battle, and if it is then we’re probably approaching it the wrong way. We don’t need to prove our grit and determination with every step we take. We aren’t perpetually meant to play the underdog in our own life story.

For if we are constantly doing hard things, then when are we ever letting ourselves just be?

And if we are constantly doing hard things, then might we be making life harder than it’s actually intended to be?

So, if you’re still hellbent on doing a hard thing, then I urge you to do this:

Do nothing.

Just be.

Quiet your mind, lose yourself in something fun, and give yourself permission to let go.

It may be the hardest thing you’ve done in a long time.

But I promise it’s also the most important.