My Sunday was dedicated to doing precisely nothing. After my morning coffee was consumed on a park bench by the beach – an act that occurs most Sunday mornings – I went to breakfast with a friend. I would be home by 10:30am. Ten-thirty arrived and so did I. I was home. The sun was out and glorious. So I went for a run. I’m glad I went for that run because, as I write this, the weather is not glorious and hasn’t been since that Sunday run. The wind kicked in and hasn’t wavered since. But my partner and I braved it to do the grocery shopping. After unpacking the groceries and repacking them into the fridge, I lay on the couch for 10 minutes but the dishes needed to be done so I got up and did those. Then I cleaned a little more. At 4pm, I stopped and started reading Trick Mirror: Reflections on Self-Delusion, the debut book of New Yorker staff writer Jia Tolentino. I stumbled upon an essay called ‘Always Be Optimizing’ and was faced with the reality that in a failed attempt to do nothing, I had, in fact, spent my entire day optimising.

Doing nothing is hard, not only because our attention spans have become collateral damage in our increased dependency on the internet, but because our lives are now so fast and full and measurable, they require optimisation to get through. We need to spend every bit of our time efficiently. It’s no longer a question of what do I feel like doing right now? But what is the most efficient thing to do right now? As Tolentino writes: “Today, the principle of optimization – the process of making something, as the dictionary puts it, ‘as fully perfect, functional, or effective as possible’ – thrives in extremity. An entire industry has even sprung up to give optimization a uniform: athleisure, the type of clothing you wear when you are either acting on or signalling your desire to have an optimized life.” As I spent my day of nothing tending to my health and my home in my armour of activewear, I became the walking poster child of optimisation, and it left me pondering the value of not just doing nothing. But the value of doing something entirely pointless. The pointless act of play.

“Today, the principle of optimization – the process of making something, as the dictionary puts it, ‘as fully perfect, functional, or effective as possible’ – thrives in extremity.”

Play is different for everyone depending on their job and their interests. As Mark Twain once wrote, “work consists of whatever a body is obliged to do. Play consists of whatever a body is not obliged to do.” When we are children, much of our life consists of play, whether it is playing hide and seek or reading books or riding our bikes or finger painting. An evolutionary act designed to teach children new skills. The funny thing is the type of play we are drawn to often leads us to our work. The finger painter becomes the graphic designer, the bike rider a PE teacher, the bookworm, perhaps, a journalist. But when we find our jobs, something happens. The play stops despite the fact it was the act quietly helping us master the art of something very important in our lives. 

Play, in fact, had a point. But the point here is not one of results. The point is doing something to achieve, possibly, nothing at all. The point is fun. In an age where our lives are measured by likes and comments and 10-step skincare routines and promotions, doesn’t play become the respite to all this? The relief? The fun? Isn’t it nice to write a very bad poem for precisely no reason at all. Or maybe do as TV veteran Leila McKinnon is doing, and learn how to DJ. Or if that doesn’t take your fancy, knit. I guess it is an entirely personal choice. It is your time, not mine, so I am not here to tell you how to spend it. Only to remind you it is yours. But there is one thing I know for sure. In our optimised lives, play does create a space which is useful to our minds. Research says it reduces stress and boosts creativity and as Alan Lightman wrote in his book, In Praise of Wasting Time, Einstein gained something from going out in a boat he couldn’t sail very well. His sailing skills may not have improved but the lapping waves against the boat, the solitude of the sea, often indirectly provided a small answer to difficult questions in his work. Organisational psychologist Adam Grant wrote in his book, Originals, “When you procrastinate, you’re more likely to let your mind wander. That gives you a better chance of stumbling onto the unusual and spotting unexpected patterns.” As our lives are scheduled to the rafters, I think we need to find our feet in play again. Whether we’re knitting or reading or writing terrible poems or DJ’ing to precisely no one, doing something useless is now entirely useful. Even if it is only a quiet act of rebellion in our optimised lives.