Down Time

A real, honest-to-goodness day off is, for many of us, but a fantasy. There’s always obligation of some sort that intrudes: laundry, errands, parenting duties, social engagements that seemed like a good idea when you committed, work from the week that seeps into Saturday. A day with nothing scheduled becomes, too often, a fertile expanse within which all the undone things from the week will get done.

Sometimes, though, you find yourself with a truly empty day, one in which you’re determined to do as little as possible and your productivity compulsion is quiet enough that you can actually just be. “What do I want to do right now?” you can actually hear yourself ask yourself. “Lie in bed and watch old episodes of ‘High Maintenance,’” you might answer, and next thing you know, there you are, under the covers at 10 a.m., actually watching TV, like a person who understands the power and value of true leisure.

If you’re anything like me, this feels indulgent, delicious, for about 45 minutes, maybe an hour, and then the uncomfortable feelings set in. Some gross admixture of guilt, restlessness, FOMO, maybe even boredom. You feel like the kid who stayed home from school when she wasn’t really sick, lying on the couch watching “The Price Is Right” as a dusty beam of sunlight streams in. What made you think this level of laziness would feel restorative? Whose idea was this anyway?

I had a day like this recently, one in which I tried to do as little as possible, telling myself all the while that I needed a lazy interlude, a total pause from responsibility. I convinced myself that lying low would be not only restorative but also enjoyable. I put on my most comfortable version of what my friend Alice calls “hangaround bangarounds” — cozy, unrestrictive house clothes — and ordered food for delivery. By the time night fell, I was so cabin-feverish that taking a shower and going for a walk made me feel like a jaguar busting out the gates of a zoo. Instead of the relaxing break from responsibility I’d hoped to engineer, the day was a strange and lonely aberration, too much time spent wasting time.

I asked some colleagues if they’d ever successfully executed a totally intentional day of sloth without descending into self-loathing, and they were eager to share their secrets. “Baking,” one declared immediately. Baking, she explained, is an activity, but it’s not a chore. It’s not even cooking, which could be contorted into meal-prepping and thus become a chore. She recently spent a lazy day making Marion Burros’s plum torte, which we should all be making this month, before plums are out of season (although it’s infinitely customizable with any fruit — I always forget!). A baking project gives you a built-in timer so you won’t climb into bed and rot away. You have something to attend to, which gives the day the tiniest bit of structure. And of course, at the end, you have a baked creation. How satisfying!

The formula for a lazy day that doesn’t become a depressing day, we decided, is incorporating an activity just taxing enough to keep you from total passivity. That could be baking. It could be an art project, or writing a letter, or even a scheduled long catch-up phone call with an old friend. We considered whether tidying the house first thing so that your laziness is conducted in a pleasant space might qualify, but decided that as soon as you start slipping chores into the agenda, the day ceases to be relaxing.