Doing Nothing

In this episode (178) – Doing Nothing . . .

I'm lost - it's our first morning, Monday, October 24, 2022, at Curry Village in Yosemite National Park. For those who follow my blog, you know I'm an early riser; yes, up at 4:30 daily, with no alarm clock, wide awake and ready to start the day (five a.m. is my idea of sleeping in). However, let's do a reality check, an essential part of vacation is Lori's time to sleep in, and rightfully so.

Sitting on the porch of the community building at Camp Curry with Nothing but my thoughts as if a bolt of lightning struck me; most people in the twenty-first century are allergic to silence and a lack of something to do. It's as if they're afraid of their thoughts.

Don't believe me? Just look around; people on their phones, working on a project, watching TV, playing games, surfing the Internet, reading a book, preparing a meal, cleaning the house, flossing their teeth, you get the idea. They are always doing. I'm as guilty as you.

But what if you're up early and everyone is sleeping throughout the entire camp, no services open, no place to sit at a desk, no pad or pencil to write with, and by God, it's cold 32 degrees! Your phone is charging back at the cabin, pitch darkness, trees towering around you. The only piece of tech you have is your headlamp. And, of course, warm clothes, hiking boots, a hat, and gloves.

What to do?

My first instinct, I'll get in a brisk morning walk. There are path lights to the restrooms within the confines of Curry Village, but once you get past the parking lot - Darkness. Look up to see the stars, but unlike wilderness camping, in the high Sierras, you are engulfed by trees. It's quiet; you hear the rhythm of your footfalls, the rustling of the leaves, smell the sweet pines, the vapors from your breathing form clouds in front of you, and you can see just a few feet, Nothing stirring. So, after about 30 minutes of stumbling around the trails in the dark, I returned to the community building and took up rocking on the porch.

Once seated, my first thought was, huh; coffee would be good. If we were camping, I would have lit the Wisperlite stove, boiled some water from the lake, and warmed myself with a cup of coffee. The coffee shop across the way would not open for another 45 minutes, 6:30 a.m.? The community building and breakfast pavilion 7:00 a.m. So, content to rock on the porch, my thoughts started organizing this week's podcast. What was I thinking, no laptop, no WiFi, no connection?

Then, finally, I accepted that being on vacation sometimes means letting go and doing Nothing. Let the years of programmed conditioning of your work schedule, activity schedule, exercise schedule, and daily routines slip away for a time. All those activities will catch up to you all too soon.

My listening friends, don't panic; it's ok - relax, enjoy the silence, and permit yourself to occasionally Do Nothing.

I'm Patrick Ball; thanks for listening. I'll see you in the next episode.

Comments

The Language of Home: Building a Sanctuary

This episode is for anyone trying to find their footing in a new place—whether it’s a new city, a new job, or a new country. The light in Florence, Italy, has a way of making everything feel like a Renaissance painting—the golden hue on the stone, the steady rhythm of the Arno River, and the feeling that you are walking through a history much larger than yourself. I was there to give a presentation to a class of Gemology students. I was prepared to discuss color grading and refractive indices, but not to be outed as a language tutor . Feeling very much like a guest in a storied land, a hand shot up enthusiastically. "You’re the guy on the podcasts," the young woman said, her eyes bright with recognition. "You’re the one teaching us English." I laughed nervously. If you know my flat Midwestern accent, you know the irony here. I am hardly an Oxford professor. But later, as I wandered the cobblestone streets beneath the shadow of the Duomo, the humor faded into a powe...

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active. We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update. But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece. The Kick That Changed Everything It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys. "Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up." Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room s...

Chasing 70

In this episode, Chasing 70: A Respectful Negotiation with Gravity They say golf is a game of misses. If that’s true, my first round of the year at Rancho Carlsbad was a masterclass in missing efficiently . After a four-month hiatus—during which my golf clubs quietly evolved into a self-sustaining garage ecosystem—Lori and I returned to our local par-three proving ground. Rancho Carlsbad is a par-54, just 1,983 yards long. That sounds forgiving until it exposes every weakness you’ve been politely ignoring during the off-season. I finished with a 78. In most contexts, 78 is respectable. On a par-54, it means I spent a fair amount of time “getting my steps in.” But here’s the real motivation: I turn 70 this August. As a core principle of my Great Un-Working Lifestyle, I’m putting it in writing: I want to shoot my age by my birthday. The Bald-Headed Man Course Around here, we have a nickname for Rancho Carlsbad. We call it the Bald-Headed Man Course. First, because there are no woods...

Stop Buying Rory’s Ball

⛳️ In this episode, why your Ego is costing you 5 strokes a round. I spent last weekend watching the Pebble Beach Pro-Am from the comfort of my La-Z-Boy recliner. It’s a beautiful spectacle. The cliffs, the ocean, the guys whose swing speeds sound like a fighter jet breaking the sound barrier. And during every commercial break, a very serious voiceover tells me that to play like a pro, I need to buy the ball the pros play. They make a compelling argument. They show slick slow-motion footage of a golf ball compressing against a clubface like a stress ball in a vise grip, then exploding down the fairway. Here is the uncomfortable truth that gravity whispered in my ear somewhere around my 65th birthday: I’m not Rory McIlroy. And if you are reading this, statistically speaking, neither are you. The Physics of the Squish When a pro hits a “Tour-level” ball, they swing upwards of 115+ mph (Rory 123 mph). They possess the violence necessary to squish that incredibly hard little sph...

On The Fly

Search This Blog