As i was racing through the bookstore yesterday, on my way to the trashy novels, i was stopped by this book:
Last week i met another retired person, and he asked me what i did with my time. (I realized after he asked me this, that he really was waiting for me to ask him back so he could tell me about the fabulous things that he is doing.) I get asked that question with some frequency. It's always hard for me to answer. I exercise, i read, i have lunch with friends, i blog. Not much. Certainly nothing exciting to talk about.
I don't have a passion. I am not writing a novel or making music or traveling the world taking pictures of rare animals. (Two of which the above mentioned man was doing.) I am not collecting violins or opening a start-up company or attending board meetings of charitable organizations. I am not creating art, or becoming a master gardener or learning how to make gourmet meals.
What i am doing is being perfectly happy doing nothing of any importance to the world. I'm so happy that i am not even ashamed of my lack of purpose.
I do not want to be criticising people who do these things. Have at it, i say. But it's also okay to just be living. It's more than okay, it's great! I highly recommend it.
I looked on Amazon this morning, so as to get the picture of the book, and it appears that there are quite a few books about being idle and doing nothing. I had no idea that there is a small, but growing, movement out there for Idlers.
Damn, I hope i won't feel moved to write my own book about it.