Saturday, I did… nothing.

Not nothing in the poetic, mindful sense. Not nothing like a hammock in Blaye with a breeze gently caressing my cheek.

I mean actual, unapologetic, pajamas at noon, Netflix-loop, college football, MLB play off games, munching tortilla chips kind of nothing.

And you know what?

I felt guilty.

Somewhere between the second cup of coffee and a corn muffin was the moment I realized I hadn’t moved in hours. My brain started its familiar chorus of “You should be productive,” “You could be organizing something!”

It is as if my inner overachiever and my inner sloth got into a bitch fight and eventually, guilt won.

But here’s the thing. Doing nothing should count as doing something.

Rest is not a moral failing. The universe does not hand out extra credit for folding laundry at midnight.

What if we reframed nothing as active gratitude.

Lying in bed, I was not wasting time. I was appreciating horizontal surfaces.

I certainly was not avoiding chores. I was engaging in extreme stillness.

I was not being lazy. I was actually listening to my tired, stressed body.

Life doesn’t always need to be optimized, monetized or turned into content. Sometimes, the best thing you can do for yourself is to hit pause, take a breath and not conquer the day.

It Is okay to do nothing. In fact, I highly recommend it.

Preferably with snacks and a Yankee win.