#30 The Right to Be "Lazy"

Permission to not be at my best, please

Art by Kara Pangilinan

This newsletter was supposed to reach you last weekend. And it was supposed to be about something else. At one point, approximately last Friday at midnight, it was going to be a voice note instead of a written newsletter (about yet an entirely different topic from the supposed essay) until I panicked midway through recording and accepted defeat.

I’m not going to make it. I won’t be able to send a newsletter this Sunday.

What happened?

The usual suspect: Procrastination.

Look, I had a plan. I had dedicated Saturday to writing. And since I already had a clear idea of what I wanted to talk about, I figured it wouldn’t take too long to write. You know, don’t overthink it or revise to death for a change.

But then that Friday, I, a person with very low caffeine tolerance, did a very stupid thing and drank two cups of coffee after lunch (after lunch!). The second drink was a Dirty Chai Latte, which I highly recommend if you haven’t tried it. (Although as a chai and espresso combo, I would strongly advise against drinking it later in the day.)

I ended up dozing off at 2 AM after my failed attempt at a voice note newsletter. I was half-asleep the whole time.

Against my best interests, my early bird self woke up on schedule. 7 AM. I felt groggy, lightheaded, and annoyed by the morning light.

And from that point, I was an utterly useless human being, unable to will myself to do anything.

I was supposed to publish my second newsletter for September. I’d already reduced my output from four to two newsletters per month. What’s my excuse?

I was supposed to spend hours reading, because how dare I bum around when I was three books behind my reading goal?

My workload that week had been notably light, so it’s not like I needed to take it easy to recover from some hellish phase. So why was I feeling so out of sorts? Or to put my guilt more accurately: Why was I letting myself loaf around because of it?

I wasn’t particularly upset about anything. Sure, I lacked sleep going into the weekend, but my state continued until Sunday even when I had already gotten adequate sleep. For reasons I can’t explain, that whole weekend, I just felt listless and restless. And in my gut, I knew that, as much as I wanted to, I deeply wasn’t in the mood to get anything done.

When I was younger I discovered this quote that I swore and lived by for many years: “The key is to never tire. Be indefatigable.” Back then, I really did believe that you could strong-arm your way out of a bad mood, a slump, or any unproductive state of being. It felt possible — and hence expected it of myself — to consistently operate at full capacity.

But a long stretch of burnout followed by a global pandemic really has a way of shattering your illusion of control.

As a recovering Type A personality, I’d like to think I’ve gotten better at phasing myself and cutting myself some slack. But as this weekend has made it clear: I’ve yet to completely shake off the allure of doing. I’m aware that this is not totally my fault. Productivity is the siren call of the modern world. It’s hard not to sing along, harder even to not judge yourself when you’re out of tune.

And yet, over the weekend, a part of me knew I had to resist this. And I was reminded of the phrase “ebbs and flows”, which we often use to describe life. We should learn to embrace them, they say. The shining moments and the shadows of rock bottom. The breakthroughs and breakdowns. Then it occurred to me that this pattern of waxing and waning applies not only in life in general — but to me. I have my ebbs and flows.

The flows — the positive states — are obviously easier to accept. But there will be days when it’s just inexplicably harder to get up. Days when you’re suddenly hit by a wave of uneasiness or sluggishness. Days where you just don’t feel like yourself.

So why would I judge myself — punish myself — for going through an ebb when it’s perfectly natural?

Let me articulate this in hopes of metabolizing it once and for all: To expect ourselves to always show up with a certain level of energy, or to always deliver a certain caliber of work, or to always be steady and emotionally moderated and productive, feels so out of step with being human.

Despite that gnawing feeling over the weekend from all the things I should’ve done, I knew I just needed to give in. To let myself be not in the mood, do nothing, and sit it out. I needed to have faith in this truth I’ve seen time and again in hindsight: One of our most rejuvenating forces is self-compassion.

To do nothing isn’t to fritter away your time. To do nothing is soulfully necessary.

All the while I thought I was asking if I had the right to be lazy. But I see now that I was simply asking for the right to be.