You Are Doing Something Important When You Aren’t Doing Anything

You Are Doing Something Important When You Aren’t Doing Anything

We need to rest(rest), to read, to reconnect. It is the invisible(inˈvizəb(ə)l) labor(ˈlābər) that makes creative life possible.

By Bonnie Tsui(so͞oē)

This summer I’m aspiring(əˈspī(ə)riNG) to be the grasshopper(ˈgrasˌhäpər), not the ant(ant).

Remember Aesop’s(ˈēsəp,ˈēˌsäp) fable(ˈfābəl)? The grasshopper fiddled(ˈfidl) away the summer months, while the ants toiled(toil) to ready their grain(grān) stores for winter. When autumn arrived, the ants refused to share food with the hungry(ˈhəNGgrē) grasshopper. The ostensible(äˈstensəbəl,əˈsten-) moral(ˈmär-,ˈmôrəl): There’s a time for work and a time for play.

But what if the grasshopper only looked like it wasn’t working? What if, as an artist, its play was critical(ˈkridək(ə)l) to its work, only no one saw it? As summer begins, I’m going to argue(ˈärgyo͞o) for fallow(ˈfalō) time.

Fallow time is necessary to grow everything from actual crops(kräp) to figurative(ˈfiɡyərədiv) ones, like books and children. To do the work, we need to rest, to read, to reconnect. It is the invisible labor that makes creative life possible.

I’m not talking about boredom(ˈbôrdəm), though that is part of the broader(brôd) picture of maintaining creativity(ˌkrēāˈtivədē). I’m talking about an active refueling(rēˈfyo͞o(ə)l) that can seem at odds(ädz) with our fetishization(ˌfetiSHiˈzāSHən) of productivity. Reading a book, visiting a museum, wandering out to people-watch at the park. Though we purport to value artists and romanticize(rōˈman(t)əˌsīz) their muses(myo͞oz), the aforementioned(əˈfôrˌmenSHənd) activities aren’t often recognized as work.

And I’m not talking about vacation(vāˈkāSHən,və-) or weekends. I’m talking about a more regular practice, built into our understanding of what work is. Fallow time is part of the work cycle(ˈsīkəl), not outside of it. In periodic(ˌpirēˈädik) intervals(ˈin(t)ərvəl) around the completion(kəmˈplēSHən) of a project, I have lately(ˈlātlē) given myself permission(pərˈmiSHən) to watch “Deadwood: The Movie,” to nap over the newspaper, to take a walk and restore the white space for complex(ˌkämˈpleks, kəmˈpleks, ˈkämˌpleks) thinking and writing. It can feel indulgent(inˈdəljənt). It can feel … lazy(ˈlāzē). But the difference between lazing around and laissez-faire is that I’m actually going about the business of my business.

In taking this pause(pôz) in production in favor(ˈfāvər) of absorption(-ˈsôrp-,əbˈzôrpSHən), I admit(ədˈmit) that I’m fighting(ˈfīdiNG) my innate(iˈnāt) impatience(ˌimˈpāSHəns). This is me working hard against my antlike tendencies, ingrained(inˈgrānd) in me by my immigrant(ˈiməɡrənt) parents, modern-day hustle(ˈhəsəl) culture and our pervasive(pərˈvāsiv), status(ˈstādəs, ˈstadəs)-quo(kwō) American busyness. This is me pushing aside(əˈsīd) the overwhelming in order to think real thoughts.

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https://www.nytimes.com/2019/06/21/opinion/summer-lying-fallow.html