I did nothing today. I had plans. I had responsibilities. I have articles to write, and things to clean. I have lists and chores and things to get to. But I did none of them.
And it wasn’t because of depression. I felt pretty good today, in fact. It wasn’t from exhaustion, though I was tired from an ill-advised late-night Netflix binging.
I simply did nothing today. Consciously and on purpose.
You see, the house was quiet today. With six people, and two cats, living here, it’s rare for there to be total silence uninterrupted by talking or TV or incessant meowing. But today, everything was still.
And so was I. I sat in my favorite wingback chair in the living room, with the lights off. I put my phone away. I dozed on and off, without the blare of CNN to guide my dreams. During my waking moments, I simply sat there, bathing in the quiet.
When you are so used to background noise, quiet becomes audible. You can hear silence. You can feel it. And it is restorative.
So I didn’t write today. I didn’t clean. I didn’t send emails, or make phone calls, or tackle anything on my list.
But I spent some time in healing, quiet, solitude. And that, my friends, is important work.
This post originally appeared on Facebook. It has been reprinted with permission.