All this 'doing' is fine, but how about some 'don't-ing'?

I know that's not a word

You can listen to this, instead, via my voice note, below if you’d like.

We are living in a world of doing and doers. I’m not moaning about it. I’ve already proclaimed myself a doer in a previous post.

I was saying in my ponderings on change that when something’s not working, I have to do something about it. But I did point out there’s lots I’m not good at doing, so if you’re reading this and know me a bit and can think of stuff I don’t do, like phone you back or volunteer enough for stuff at school…yeah, yeah…I know.

Anyway. We’re all doing lots and celebrating it. I’m first to pat myself on the back for getting stuff done. The feeling of accomplishment at the end of a ‘doing day’ is up there with the best of ‘em.

It’s especially good when you’re getting that dream stuff done that you’ve always said you’re gonna do (getting a work report finished is great and all but finishing a short story and sending it off to a competition is the bomb - well until you press send then decide it’s the worst thing you’ve ever written…but anyway).

The thing is, the ‘doing’ is addictive isn’t it? And you start chasing the ‘doers high’.

Why wouldn’t you? It’s getting you results and you want more.

So there you are, whizzing along, doing all the stuff. Getting up early to do all the stuff. Writing lists and ticking off ALL. THE. STUFF.

Then something happens.

The doing stops.

It happened to me this week. (You’ll get to know, if you haven’t already, that it happens to me with annoying regularity).

But it was especially enraging this time because, you know, I had been doing so much doing. And seeing the results.

My novel was taking root.

A new short story was forming.

My work plans were becoming clearer.

My Substack had a flurry of new visitors (thank you).

Then I woke up one morning and found my brain had turned to sludge.

The sludge sloshed around, thick and heavy, holding me back as I tried to get back to my doing.

My 6am writer wake ups got shoved under the pillow. Not today shouty alarm.

I went for my usual run and my legs couldn’t do it because my mind was so worried by the sludge that had settled there.

I tried to write and got nothing.

Oh and I got a raging toothache (and had an emergency root canal on Thursday, I know, poor me).

What’s happened? I moaned at myself. Don’t do this again…don’t stop the doing, not when you’ve been doing so well.

But while I was on that run (that became a walk) trying to fire myself up, I slowly got my head around it.

The non-run was not a waste, I told myself. I’m sill moving. I’m still out in the world.

And I realised I needed to give myself a bloody break.

Why, when I had achieved so much in recent weeks was I beating myself up?

And so I flipped how I felt about my brain sludge.

I wouldn’t fight it, I’d fold myself into it.

I would do some don’t-ing.

(again, I do know this is not a word).

As I ended the run/walk I bumped into a good friend.

“I’m having a don’t-ing day” I proclaimed. “We all get wrapped up in the doing but I’m going for the don’t-ing today.”

My plans for all the words I was going to try to write, floated off to tomorrow.

My thoughts about a timer-driven session of getting through my list was filed away for the when the sludge drained.

I made myself some amazing food. I curled up on the sofa in a blanket. I put the TV on and I let my mind rest.

I did the don’t-ing the next day too.

And got out for long walks. I took in the stifled spring, trying its best.

I ate my breakfast by the soft rippling ponds nearby and tried to work out which birds I could hear.

I picked my kid up from school and cuddled up with them to watch screechy American sitcoms on Netflix.

I let my eyes close in the lull of the mid afternoons for a day or two.

The positive payoff at the end of this piece, is not, annoyingly that my brain then cleared and all the doing came back. Because I’m not sure it has yet and I think this weird old article probably illustrates that.

But it is to say, ‘don’t panic’ when the doing dies off, I suppose. If there’s one thing we all know, the path, whichever one we’re on, weaves us through shadow and light, then back again and hopefully, each section is edging us along to somewhere, even when we think we’re lost.

And anyway, there’s a lot of doing in all that don’t-ing. And I’m patting myself on the back for it.

P

x

PS: Did you hear, in my voice note, where I said ‘even if I don’t say so myself’? It should be ‘do say so myself,’ shouldn’t it? But I guess that fits nicely with the don’t-ing…..