the other week, i was ruminating on the things i should write about. i can only seem to write when the feelings become too much, when they have nowhere else to go except into my notebooks and onto my blog. but someone recently made me realize that talking about mundane things is a form of art, too. boring things are beautiful. ordinary things deserve to be noticed.

so i thought i would write about simple observations from this week.

i’ve always felt guilty when i’m not being productive. guilty when i’m not reading. guilty when i’m not creating something. but lately, i’ve allowed myself to watch television, documentaries, and youtube videos without turning them into assignments or lessons.

and i realized something.

these things help me observe human nature, too.

but that is exactly my problem. i tend to turn everything into work. i intellectualize simple pleasures until they become tasks. why can’t things just be simple? why can’t i sit there and do nothing and allow myself to relax?

why do i feel guilty for writing about ordinary things? why do i think something is only worth writing about if it’s heartbreaking, profound, or poetic?

the realization came over a cup of matcha.

i drink slowly. painfully slowly, according to some people. i’m that strange hybrid of a person who cannot rush a drink. i like letting it sit on my tongue. i like tasting it. i like paying attention.

so why can’t i do that with the rest of my life?

why am i always in a hurry?

all these expensive watches, and somehow i still run out of time.

what is the point of any of it if i never pause long enough to actually see what is in front of me? to feel it. to experience it.

this week, aside from work, i allowed myself to sit with a cup of ginger tea and do absolutely nothing.

i watched watercolor tutorials.

i prayed.

i doodled.

i stopped reading for a while and simply followed my creative impulses wherever they wanted to go.

it was surprisingly therapeutic.

learning about water control in watercolor made me think about life itself. how everything depends on flow. too much control ruins it. too little control ruins it, too.

some days i watched funny shows. some days i stared out the window. some days i observed things. some days i didn’t.

for once, i stopped overthinking what i wanted to write.

it has been stressful, yes. but life is beautiful this way.

i think this downtime, this permission to do nothing, is the reward for the work i did ten years ago when i was just starting out. when i worked eighteen-hour days, seven days a week. when every hour felt borrowed and every opportunity felt fragile.

i shouldn’t feel guilty for resting.

i shouldn’t feel guilty for making simple things.

i shouldn’t feel guilty for producing less.

after all, life is the longest thing we will ever experience.

so why not slow down enough to actually live it?

why not live, actually?