This kind of image. Summer sun. Floating around a bit. Doing absolutely nothing. Blissful. And unbearable. Because I know it all to well. Dreaming of not having to do anything for a while. No emails, no to-do’s, no meetings that could’ve been emails. But give me ten minutes (if that), and I’m already looking around. What can I do? What should I be doing? Where’s my list..?

Doing nothing feels weird. Unproductive. A waste of time. As if every moment needs to be used or justified. As if taking a break is only allowed when it’s part of a meticulously planned recovery program with measurable KPIs.

I call it drifting… Even the word itself sounds suspicious, doesn’t it? Like you have no idea where you’re going. No goal, no direction, no purpose. And that’s exactly the point. We’ve collectively developed an allergy to aimlessness. To simply being somewhere without achieving anything.

Except on vacation. Then it’s suddenly allowed. Then we call it ‘relaxing’ or ‘recharging’. But on a Tuesday afternoon at three o’clock? Unthinkable. That’s when you’re supposed to be ‘on’. Doing nothing becomes suspicious. You’re lazy. Or worse: disengaged.

We sometimes forget that always being ‘on’ can also be a form of addiction. Being busy feels good. It gives you the sense that you matter. That you’re needed. That you’re alive and making the most of it. But when there’s a “too” in front of it, maybe it’s just a form of escape. A way to avoid coming to a standstill. Because when it gets quiet, you might hear things you’d rather not hear.

And so we keep rushing. Running, planning, fixing, switching. As if standing still is dangerous. When actually, it’s in stillness that space is created. For recovery, for yourself, or just… nothing. No new input. No expectations. No performance.

Drifting, then. Not as a goal. Not as a method. But as a different sound. A quiet, small protest against a world that just keeps barreling forward. And yes, it feels uncomfortable at times. Occasionally pointless. But maybe that’s exactly why we need it.