Much Ado About Nothing

It’s long been a defining attribute of Americans that we boast about our indefatigable work ethic and our get-it-­done attitude about whatever obstacles come our way. As if it were a badge of honor, we brag about the propulsive, ulcer-producing demands of our work weeks and our hectic family lives — all the endless hours we invest in reaching (or exceeding) our goals. Woe to anyone who decries that ethic. Heretic!

Well, here I raise a hand to register my objection. The high-achiever lifestyle we prize often results in burnout, fatigue, addictions and, maybe worst of all, the loss of self-reflective humor.

In its place I suggest a do-less way of traveling life’s journey. This prescription has many upsides and, let’s be honest, as you’re unlikely to collect a Nobel Prize anytime soon, why not throttle back a bit, at least for a while?

Turns out I am not alone in this sacrilege. In recent years we’ve seen a boomlet of books about intentional laziness, or what is sometimes called “mindful inaction.” Interestingly, the Dutch mastered this art decades ago. They call it niksen, and it’s a respected personal choice in the Netherlands, where survey results frequently show an inordinately happy citizenry.

Among the American books devoted to this topic, one can find The Art of Doing Nothing, The Lost Art of Doing Nothing, Do Nothing, The Sweetness of Doing Nothing, and How to Do Nothing. One thing they all share: a recommendation that we resist the impulse to overachieve. Less overreaching, please. Not because our instinct is to be sloths, but because it’s beneficial to our physical and mental health. Also, to keep one’s ambitions in check is to avoid, or at least defer, life’s inevitable disappointments.

As one author noted in her chapbook I’m Lazy and I Don’t Want to Do Anything, “When you elevate doing nothing to a daily ritual, you transform it from a guilty pleasure into a form of wellness.” Acting on this advice instantly means no more burdensome to-do lists. (Question: Should they be replaced by don’t-do lists, or does that defeat the objective?)

Five years ago, in this magazine, I wrote about my affinity for the so-called slow movement. I want to be clear: it is not the same thing as the do-nothing movement, although the two modes may dovetail. Personally, that specific combination results in my doing not much, but doing it slowly.

I understand that the American version of niksen may ruffle the sensibility of 24/7 hard-chargers who view their work obsession as a kind of obligation to the homeland. Some even appear to see work for work’s sake as a moral imperative. Okay. Doing nothing is not for everyone. Hard work has its virtues — but not if it’s relentless.

In The Good-Enough Life, published three years ago, author Avram Alpert argued that “the pursuit of greatness in our individual, interpersonal, and social lives is self-defeating. Not only is the goal never achieved, but along the way we damage or destroy the many meaningful, everyday experiences we could have created.”

Indeed, it’s a matter of balance. We attain Ultimate Nothingness only when we are dead. An undesirable goal, surely. Rather, I call for Do-­Nothing Lite. With it, I hope, comes a sense of quiet and peace.

Perhaps no one understands this as well as Ula Mikus, author of How to Accomplish Absolutely Nothing. I recently ordered her book — 160 pages, each one of them, I discovered to my surprise, totally blank. Nothing to complain about.

In the July/August issue, Cable Neuhaus wrote about the business of blurbing.

This article is featured in the September/October 2025 issue of The Saturday Evening Post. Subscribe to the magazine for more art, inspiring stories, fiction, humor, and features from our archives.