The alchemy of the wandering minds
Idleness as Resistance
In August, we explore idleness as a radical act of leisure. This letter is the second installment of the month’s series. Start with Idleness as Resistance.
There’s a quiet magic in the moments when we allow ourselves to do nothing. Not the deliberate, carefully scheduled "me-time" that still carries the weight of productivity, but true idleness—the kind that sneaks up on us, almost forbidden in a world that demands constant motion. I often find myself defending this idleness, not just to others, but to myself. We live in a world that glorifies productivity, where every moment is accounted for, filled with tasks, goals, and deadlines.
Maybe it’s because I find great solace in the science behind idleness
The science of idleness isn’t just about rest; it’s about something far deeper. When we allow ourselves to be idle, our brain’s default mode network (DMN) quietly hums to life. Neuroscientist Marcus Raichle’s research discovered this web of brain regions that becomes more active when we are at rest, not focused on any particular task. In those idle moments, our brains light up like a hidden city at night—spontaneously solving problems, sparking creativity, and processing emotions. It’s as though our minds, freed from the pressure to perform, take flight and wander into new territories, stitching together ideas in unexpected ways.
Jonathan Smallwood, a cognitive psychologist, has delved into the phenomenon of mind-wandering and found that during these seemingly unproductive moments, our brain switches into what he calls the “diffuse mode.” This is the birthplace of creativity, a state where our minds can float freely, making unexpected connections, seeing patterns we might miss in our more focused, linear thinking. It’s like giving our minds permission to play and explore without boundaries, and it is here where innovation and creative problem-solving truly flourish.
Nancy Andreasen, a neuroscientist who has spent decades researching creativity, complements this view. Her studies show that highly creative people often slip into this diffuse mode without even realizing it. This isn’t just anecdotal; Andreasen’s research demonstrates that artists, writers, and inventors often rely on these periods of rest and idleness to fuel their work. Imagine our minds as vast landscapes, with rivers of thought that need time to meander and find new paths. When we give ourselves the gift of idleness, we tap into a process known as incubation. That word alone sounds soft, nurturing, like a pause before a grand reveal. There’s a beauty in how our subconscious mind takes over when we relinquish control, working quietly, unnoticed, behind the scenes. I’ve noticed this in my own life, during the most ordinary of moments—while walking, folding laundry, or stirring a pot of soup. It’s as if my thoughts rearrange themselves, knitting together in new ways, until, without warning, the right idea surfaces, fully formed and unbidden, as if plucked from the ether.
When I think of idleness, I think of the spaces between the notes of a song—those silences that make the melody possible
It’s not just about rest; it’s about the richness that emerges from these pauses. Our brains, intricate and magnificent as they are, aren’t machines designed for perpetual focus. Neuroscientific research reveals that our cognitive capacities operate in cycles, known as ultradian rhythms. These rhythms dictate that after 90 to 120 minutes of concentration, our brains need a break—a natural ebb in the tide of mental energy. This isn’t laziness; it’s biology.
There’s something deeply nurturing about this. In a world that values productivity and efficiency, idleness becomes a form of quiet rebellion, a way of reclaiming our right to simply be, without the constant pressure to do. And it’s here, in these open, unstructured spaces, that our creativity truly thrives. It’s where we find the answers we didn’t know we were looking for, where we heal in ways that productivity could never offer.
Perhaps one of the most beautiful and lesser-known ideas connected to idleness is psychogeography—the way wandering through a place, without a set destination, can open up new ways of thinking and feeling. When we allow ourselves to drift through a city or nature, we’re engaging with our environment in a deeply intuitive way. The French writer Guy Debord coined this term to describe how our geographical surroundings can profoundly influence our emotions and behaviors. There’s something healing, almost magical, about this kind of wandering. It’s as though the world, in its quiet way, is showing us new perspectives, inviting us to see the familiar in unfamiliar ways.
And all of this—incubation, mind-wandering, cognitive rest, and psychogeography—reminds us that we are designed to thrive in the spaces in between. It’s in these moments of stillness, when the world hushes around us, that our minds expand. We’re not running away from life; we’re preparing to meet it more fully, with a sense of clarity and creativity that only rest can bring.
In a way, idleness isn’t about doing less—it’s about doing what’s necessary. It’s a reclaiming of our time, our minds, and our hearts. When we embrace it, we become fertile ground for new ideas, for resilience, and for a deeper understanding of the world and our place in it. So, the next time you find yourself sinking into stillness, remember: you are not idle. You are becoming.
August Gatherings
This month, as many of us are (hopefully) embracing idleness and enjoying the wind in our hair, we will pause our Tuesday morning journaling sessions. Let’s reconnect in September.
Yes!!! 🙌