The Importance Of Doing Nothing

Guest Blogger: Connie McLeod

Connie is my first ever guest blogger. She’s a new friend and creative impetus in my life, and I like her a lot. She’s jump-out-of-planes-fearless (literally) and her personal motto is: If it scares me, I’ve got to do it. Though we’ve run in the same professional circles for years, we only really “met” this year.  As fate would have it, we discovered we were both part of a great midlife bloggers group of women at Generation Fabulous.  We have been friends and supporters of each other ever since. This spring the Dalai Lama visited New Orleans and we both blogged about it from our different perspectives. I know you will enjoy my friend and guest blogger’s words as much as I do. 

I’ve been told that I do nothing better than anyone else. I usually have a very full schedule. My lunches and evenings are filled with need-to-do-this or need-to-meet-them. I’ve lots of interests outside of my day job and I’m admittedly, very social. I never turn down a meal or a glass of wine with friends. My brain is always whirling and my sweetie has come to dread the phrase…”I’ve been thinking” because it usually involves some task for him.


But I also know that I need quiet time to counter that. The quiet meditative time, when I still the monkey mind chatter. I also know that my sweetie and I need quiet time together. As a couple, we need time to just be.

I’ve written about my friend’s camp before.  That special Zen oasis she calls the Flying Alligator, less than an hour from my home.  It’s perched on a quiet bluff overlooking a mighty river. The Atchafalaya River is one of the deepest rivers in the world and from her pier; I can sit and watch it’s fast moving current flow by for hours. It’s too fast for waterskiers or even fishermen, so only occasionally does a boat go by. You don’t see other homes or people from that pier. You can only see the mighty ancient trees that line it’s banks. It’s a real connection to the past as we quietly sit and listen to the sounds of nature surrounding us.

This is how this spot has looked for eons. We watch the eagles and the hawks and the rosy-headed spoonbills soaring high in the sky, as well as the tiny chickadee hopping on the branch that shades the pier. We’re in the middle of the Atchafalaya Basin  which is the largest swamp in the country and it still feels primal. I’ve seen migratory geese flying over so high in the sky they looked like hundreds of shimmering ribbons that undulated with wind currents; those ribbons appearing and disappearing depending on the wings catching the glow of the sun on their journey.

We watch the frogs and the lizards and the snakes and see the occasional fish jump out of the river.  We see a bird dive into the water to catch its dinner. I feel connected to the world as I watch how nature has been since the beginning of time.

I’m still connected to technology and it feels appropriate that I see the words of the Dalia Lama being posted by friends.  He’s only a short ways away—as the bird flies—in New Orleans, his first visit to my favorite city. (I hope he eats well while he’s there). I read a post about his Holiness, “the recipe for happiness is pretty simple, sleep well, eat well, meditate and connect with people who value your opinion.”

I know I’m where I’m meant to be in this moment of time. Feeling connected to the larger world. Sitting in happy silence with my love, occasionally touching hands and yes, a glass of wine in the other hand.

Part of my doing nothing is reading the book “My Stroke of Insight” from a powerful TED talk. This neuroscientist talks of recovering from a stroke and how important sleep and quiet and the kindness of others were to her healing and recovery. Her words and the Dalai Lama’s, being content and happy in the presence of love and being connected to nature, have all resonated with me this weekend.

I’ve come to believe that I’m meant to help people connect to their creativity. I’m still working on exactly how to get that message out. But maybe it’s by showing someone how to do nothing—something I’m very good at. It sure has connected me to the glorious, creative world today.

About Connie McLeod

Creativity Coach at Greenview Designs; foodie and wine lover; world traveler; blogger

I’ve been an Art Director for over 30 years and have won a bunch of awards over those years. During my career I’ve worked for ad agencies, higher education, nonprofits and done freelance design.  I’m an LSU grad with a degree in Advertising/Journalism. I took six months and backpacked across Europe in my 20’s and I was my daughter’s Girl Scout leader for 13 years and I jumped out of a plane on my 50th birthday. This year I launched Greenview Designs and am leading workshops on Creativity and Innovation along with other designy things.

I learned with Scouts, it’s not about earning the badge, it’s about the hike you take to earn it, what you learn and see and enjoy along the way. I embrace my joys, challenges and the bumps in the road with a sense of creativity. I hope you enjoy following me along my creative journey.

Connie’s blog is My Creative Journey

8 thoughts on “The Importance Of Doing Nothing

  1. Lovely, lovely post. I believe in the importance of doing nothing regularly, Okay, more than regularly. I can sit and listen to the nightly crickets (I miss them so much in the winter) and the birds and the breeze blowing the limbs of the trees. The sound of my sons laughter, my husbands voice, and the meow of my cats. Life is delicious. You just have to be aware (and smart) enough to sit back and enjoy it once in awhile. Life goes by too quickly to always run around. Thanks for this, Connie. Thanks for being friends with our darling Lisa.

  2. Connie and Lisa, I think the two of you make a winning creative combo! I’m doing nothing today except what I want to do, and catching up on blogs was at the top of the list. Great thoughts, Connie, and hats off to you, Lisa for sharing another amazing voice on your wonderful blog.

  3. I desperately need to sit and do nothing. It’s something I haven’t done in so long. What should be part of every day is starting to feel so far out of reach and like an indulgence. Wah!

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