You can just not do things...

I’m in a moment of my life where, for the first time, I’m not doing too much.

For years, my life has been filled with doing—building businesses, building communities, writing, starting projects, working out, improving myself, networking… If there was time to fill, I filled it.

Now my days are simple.

I meditate, I take my kids to school, I go to the gym, I post unhinged thoughts on linkydinky (my pet name for LinkedIn), I send out this newsletter when I have something to share, I coach my clients, sometimes I do a coach training, I take walks and hikes, I spend time with my family and friends, I read books and watch TV, and I help take care of our home and three kids.

That’s mostly it.

There’s a spaciousness to my life that I’ve always longed for. In fact, it’s this sense of spaciousness, of okayness, of calm, that I was hoping I’d find on the other side of all the doing. But I didn’t end up finding it by doing.

I found it mostly by not.

In a world that is constantly asking us to do more, that glorifies agency, that celebrates those who exert maximum effort, not doing something feels like an act of rebellion.

But I believe in you. Go ahead. Don’t do it.

Don’t start that podcast.

Don’t learn how to vibe code.

Don’t meditate.

Don’t exercise.

Don’t set goals.

Don’t travel.

Don’t make new friends.

Don’t volunteer.

Choose the thing that you’ve been telling yourself to do. Then go ahead and not.

As you read this invitation, notice what comes up for you.

Maybe this feels like a weight lifted. UGH, how good it feels to not have to do something. Better than sex.

Or maybe there are parts of you that feel triggered by this invitation. That say, “WTF is this random Substack bro saying? I can’t just not do the thing.”

I get it. There’s still a part of me that, at least once a day, says, “do more”.

Come on, David. Start that podcast. Build that business. Launch that community. Scale up my impact. Make more money. Improve myself. Pick up that hobby.

A past version of myself would have taken that voice and run with it. It’s all too easy for me to spin up new projects. You might even say it’s a gift I have.

But this time, I’ve just been listening to that part of me. I hear it’s worries:

“You’ll be bored.”

“You’re not safe yet.”

“You need to maximize your time on earth.”

“You’re wasting time. You’re wasting your potential.”

“Your life won’t have meaning if you don’t do more.”

Ah, I see. It isn’t really about doing. It’s about finding meaning and safety. I appreciate that it wants these things for me. I hold it. I feel the sadness it’s trying to protect me from. Sometimes I cry. It softens.

And then I see that every moment of my life is filled to the brim with meaning if I’m present enough. I see that I am safe. I feel spaciousness again. The urge to do subsides. I can just be.

If you find there’s a part of you that’s triggered by the idea of not doing the thing, what if you didn’t take that as a sign you must do, and instead, you just got curious?

Pause, take a break, and ask yourself…

• What does this part hope will be true on the other side of doing this thing?

• What is this part of me afraid will happen if I don’t do this thing?

• What is it afraid I might feel if I don’t do it?

Then check in with your body. Can you feel that emotion now? What happens if you just let yourself feel that emotion? Is it okay, even if a bit uncomfortable?

The okayness that you hoped doing would help you feel…

Perhaps it’s available to you now.

Sometimes, when the part urging me to do softens, there’s still something pulling me (not pushing me) toward action.

As I consider taking this action, there’s a sense of lightness, of joy, of energy, of flow. It’s almost like it’s not even doing. It feels more like being into that action.

When that happens, I find myself taking the action.

That’s how I started coaching. I followed the glimmers of joy and lightness I felt in coaching containers. This career path emerged. I didn’t have to do much.

That’s why I meditate. I spent a decade trying to effort myself to meditate every day. It never stuck. Then, three years ago, I tried Zazen at the right moment in my life, and it just clicked. I’ve sat every morning since. Something keeps pulling me back to the cushion. It feels easy to show up to (not always easy to do).

That’s why I write when I feel like writing. And when I notice that writing is starting to feel like doing, I pause and ask myself, what are the words that are already here and wanting to flow? There’s no effort when I’m writing like this. I already am the words.

This is how I’ve come to live much of my life at this moment. Just being, and right action emerges.

I know what some of you are thinking…

There are things we have to do. We don’t have a choice. Taxes. Making enough money to survive. Watching “The Pitt”.

I hear you.

In these cases, the part of me that is afraid of consequences if I don’t do the thing is right! If I don’t pay my taxes, I’ll be arrested. Thanks for the heads up, part! Let’s go ahead and do that

When it’s truly not a choice, then I try to surrender to it. I’m not choosing the effort. The effort is choosing me.

And in that way, I can return to just being with it. It’s out of my control.

But it’s always worth asking, is it true that it’s not a choice? Do you truly have to stay at that job? Can you truly not shut down that project? Do you truly have to launch that podcast?

I find that we often have more choice than we think, even if not doing something feels a bit painful.

Maybe I will someday be myself into a busy schedule again.

Maybe the universe will make it clear that it’s the right time to start that podcast, or do more public speaking, or write another book.

My hope is that, if I’m truly surrendering to the universe, none of these things will feel like doing. They will feel like being.

Until that’s true, I’ll just keep not doing them.

And enjoying every minute of it.