I Don't Want To Do Anything

I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to do anything right now. 

Waking up in the final act of 2022, I’m rarely eager to swallow my supplements, peel off my pajamas, or bathe (although please don’t worry, because I almost always do). 

At breakfast, I blankly stare at a spoon, lodged in a tepid mound of oatmeal. A small yet direct voice, which must belong to my stomach, speaks to my brain and says: “Brain, tell Arm to reach Hand towards Spoon.” Following orders, “Hand” is keenly aware of gravity’s weighty force, pressing on it, challenging it to quit the mission assigned to it by “Stomach.”

So, yeah. Completing normal, everyday tasks feels inordinately difficult. Monday to Sunday, I’m slogging through a swamp of gelatinous mud, or grasping for a Jumanji vine to pull myself from quicksand – but my upper body strength sucks.

Truthfully? I can barely unearth the urge to write this piece. But here I am, doing it anyway, forcing myself to translate emotions and plunk keys. (Thanks for letting me admit that to you, and thanks for continuing to read in spite of my admission). 

I promise I’m absorbing all the right and proper elements to charge my human battery. Sun? Check. Water? Check. Nutritious food? Check. But alas, I still don’t want to do anything – not the bare minimum to get by, nor the frilly operations of the exemplary Suzy Homemaker (who, in present times, tends to the house while mining the strength to juggle a job. How does she do it?!). 

1) Erect a holiday pine. 2) Hang holiday lights. 3) Bake cookies so the house smells of ginger, cloves, and molasses. None of these items are scrawled on my list of to-dos this month – partly because, after one too many magic mushrooms, I don’t have the heart to murder a tree; but also, like I said, because my motivation has gone to sleep – probably in a bear’s den. December has dulled my drive.

I see other people garnishing their homes, and decking their halls, and I envy their impulses. Compared to them, I’m lazy. Or at least I thought I was, till I stumbled upon this New York Times article called, “The Case For ‘Hibernating’ During Winter.”

Writer Tish Harrison Warren says: “Our urge to decelerate around late autumn and throughout winter ought to be heeded. The instinct to rest more in that quiet space of time between when the last leaves fall and the first fireflies arrive resonates with ancient human and biological rhythms. We should listen to it.” Hallelujah! 

A piece in Reader’s Digest titled, “Why The Practice Of Winter Rest Is So Important,” reminds us: “...we have much to learn from nature’s way of using the winter months as preparation for the hustle of spring and summer.”

I’m not a sad, depressed sack of coal after all.

Like the flora and fauna beyond our front doors, I’m simply experiencing the cycle of seasons. I’m in lockstep with the metronomic drum of the bears. I’m feeling into a wholly natural cadence, which should be embraced at this time of year, rather than shunned. 

(I knew this, of course, and yet I didn’t because I live in L.A. where the ever-present sun tricks us into believing productivity should be constant year-round, even though it shouldn’t.) 

Consider, too, the emergence of the sleepy girlfriend and it turns out I’m definitely not alone. And if you’re relating to this essay, neither are you. 

So, take a nap. Refuse to answer the phone. Excuse yourself from wrapping gifts, or buying gifts in the first place. Let’s join together in officially pressing *pause* starting… now.