Doing Nothing Wears Me Out

I had surgery on my right wrist and armpit recently, the recovery from which precluded me from driving, exercising, most cooking, playing the guitar or piano, and writing with both hands. This was described to me by the doctor before the procedure, and as I listened, I pictured three or four very boring weeks. After all, the list of forbidden activities could have also been my answer to the question, “What do you enjoy doing?”

I don’t take what you would describe as vacations. There’s nothing in my life that I want a vacation from – except my agitated monkey mind, and he will follow me from Tacoma to Timbuktu. Still, after trying to live a one-handed version of my normal days, I gave over to the reality of my situation, and decided I should view this period as a kind of staycation. I still had a TV, a couch, plenty of streaming services, and the Women’s World Cup. It was time to binge.

I put myself on a regimen, alternating between the tensely predictable Jack Ryan, rewatching the surreal hilarity 30 Rock, and then switching to soccer’s pure, unscripted struggle and passion when available. Balance is important in an entertainment diet. The hours rolled by as I worried, then laughed, then cheered, and then worried some more. Sometimes I put my feet on the ottoman, and sometimes I sat flat-footed. I got up now and then to get a snack or a drink, but then it was back to the couch. By the end of the day, I was exhausted.

No, not exhausted – just listless and drained. I was ready for bed at 7 PM, if for no other reason than it seemed more interesting than being awake. All this resting when I wasn’t tired, sitting when I’d just as soon walk, and consuming but never creating, was depleting. It confirmed something I’d known, but apparently needed to be reminded of: energy is a dynamic, responsive resource, not a finite pool from which I draw every day, to be replenished only from naps, meals, and nightly sleep.

Which is to say, doing something I enjoy gives me energy, it doesn’t spend it. I still had one good hand – enough to play some chords on the piano – and I still had my voice, and a phone to record what I’d written. I started working on a new song, and oh what a relief to focus inward instead of always outward, to listen for what only I could hear, see what only I could see, to drink from life’s ever-flowing stream.

Check out Fearless Writing with Bill Kenower on YouTube or your favorite podcast app.

Everyone Has What It Takes: A Writer’s Guide to the End of Self-Doubt
You can find William at: williamkenower.com