One of the best things about early summer in Alberta is watching the wild roses bloom along the riverbanks. I’ll be walking through the park, ruminating about something dumb I said in a meeting seven years ago, when the dusky-pink petals will catch my eye, and I’ll think, Ah, that’s better.
But I realized the other day I hadn’t seen any yet this year. Usually, the roses bloom sometime between May and June. Where were they? Had it been too wet? Too cool?
Or, a tiny part of me conceded, was it possible the flowers had already come and gone, and I just hadn’t noticed? But how? I walk along the Bow River in Calgary at least twice a day in both directions. How could I have missed the proliferation of my all-time favourite wildflower, the most comforting sign of nature’s abundance in our hyper-capitalist age of overconsumption and despair??
The next time I set out, I made a point of removing my earbuds and actually paying attention to my surroundings while I walked. Lo and behold: there were wild roses absolutely f***ing everywhere. I’d just been too wrapped up in my own head—and whatever podcast had been playing—to see them.
It’s an audio world, and we’re all just living in it
I wasn’t always such a big podcast listener. My enthusiasm (read: addiction) kicked off a few years ago when I discovered podcasts as a resource to learn about publishing.
I found shows on everything from writing craft to cover design. I found interviews with my favourite authors. I found behind-the-scenes content from agents and editors. There was so much great information out there—and I could absorb it while walking, yes, but also while driving, cleaning, doing dishes, folding laundry, brushing my teeth, showering, you name it.
It was so great! And I’m eternally grateful for all these resources. But as my podcast queue grew longer and longer, expanding into other topics like science and culture and the lasting allure of Dolly Parton, I became increasingly afraid of silence.
Nowadays, I’ll sometimes catch myself listening to a podcast that isn’t even very good, that I don’t even want to be listening to, just to have something in my ears. Is this to avoid my own thoughts? Probably. But I think the issue goes even deeper.
I’ve realized I need to be consuming content—absorbing other people’s knowledge and opinions—to make my time feel productive.
Why it’s so hard to do nothing
My impulse toward constant productivity could be described as over-functioning, a term I learned from Farzana Doctor’s new workbook, 52 Weeks to a Sweeter Life for Caregivers, Activists, and Helping Professionals.
As Doctor explains, over-functioners cope with periods of stress by taking on more tasks in order to feel a sense of power and control. We ignore boundaries. We refuse to take breaks and find it hard to relax. Simply put, we do too much.
In my case, a lot of this stems from having lived with undiagnosed ADHD for so long. Because my brain was such a swirling vortex of chaos, I coped by trying to control everything else. If I made perfect use of every minute of every day, striving for maximum efficiency in everything from hobbies to school to exercise, then nothing could fall apart on me.
Except that inevitably things did fall apart, because inevitably I burned myself out. Sometimes I still do. The human mind, I’ve learned, is not just for consuming information. It’s also for chatting. It’s also for chilling. It’s also for making art and listening to birds and sitting around a campfire.
That’s why, for me, the solution to burnout is always the same: do less. Scroll less. Watch less. Make fewer plans. Set fewer goals. Write fewer words. For the love of God, listen to fewer podcasts.
Because if you live your life on auto-play, you’re going to miss some things.
Further reading
End notes
Currently reading: Still making my way through The Hundred-Year House by Rebecca Makkai. Still excellent!
Question for you: Do you feel bombarded by too much content, audio or otherwise? Drop me a comment or hit reply to let me know! And thanks as always for reading.
If you enjoyed this post, please consider forwarding it to a friend. I’ll be sending these letters a few times per month in the lead-up to my book’s publication. Find me at morgandick.com or on Instagram @morgandick_author for more.
Whoa. This is absolutely me. I constantly have to remind myself to dial back — the noise, my goals, my incessant need to achieve rather than just be and enjoy. Thank you for this!
I clearly needed this essay, because I read it on my phone while walking, since I forgot my earbuds at home and apparently could not walk ten blocks without some form of stimulation or productivity.
Yes, there is too much - more books than I can read, more classes than I can take, more places than I can go. More life than I can live. I try to revel in the abundance rather than being stressed out by it, but I don't always succeed.