Am I willing to lie for hours on the borderlands, waiting, even when it seems as though nothing is happening?
in 04 Deep Embodiment + The Absence of Mastery
A few years ago, I took a trip to the tiny town of Liberty, WI to spend a weekend in a tiny home. It was a true tiny home experience. The home was nestled in the woods in the unglaciated Driftless area of the Kickapoo River. It perched on the top of a bluff overlooking a valley.
One of my happiest memories from that weekend was sitting on a big bench swing, watching the cars speed down the highway in the valley below.
I sat. For hours.
I love sitting and watching. I feel like I’m an expert at it–as a child lying in the grass and watching the clouds. As a teenager watching a supermoon rise as I was riding a bus in Turkey. As an older adult watching boxelder bugs mate on my window.
I’m a master at observing events that unfold at ridiculously slow speeds. Nothing seems to be happening and I’m still fascinated.
I’m not special; I just happen to be wired this way. When I watch slow events, I feel connected and expansive. I slow down and my brain gets quiet. I’m content.
In the studio, this serves me well. I’m content waiting for you to embody a movement. It’s not disconcerting to not know what will happen next.
Not surprisingly, this isn’t true for all of you.
Many times, when I ask clients what they notice or when I urge them to wait until their own knowing reveals itself, it makes them uneasy.
It’s not uncommon for clients to want to know what to do and how to feel. Sometimes people are frustrated when they can’t do something right the first time. Other people want to know how long it will take before they have strength or mastery.
Waiting for things to unfold is not a welcome option.
And when I ask people to wait, to observe, to be confused, it’s like salt in their wounds.
Waiting. Observing. Not knowing.
All of these can create a twitchy feeling. Not boredom, exactly. But certainly a desire to find firm ground. To make your way back to known territory.
To make something happen.
If you’re one of these people, this post is for you.
How do you wait for hours when nothing seems to be happening?
Before I give tips for active waiting, let’s start with the assumption that nothing is happening.
Often, when you don’t notice anything, some combination of these factors exist:
The changes you seek are so slow that you can’t see them.
You’re looking for the wrong things.
You’re looking (active) instead of observing (passive).
You think of yourself as a concrete person and some observations are too subtle or woo-woo to be relevant.
What you think is boredom is actually discomfort about not knowing what to do.
The “nothing is happening” discomfort (let’s think of it as impatience-adjacent) is a complex layer of experience. In it, you might find boredom, confusion, insecurity, and fear. While there are many causes, in all cases it’s an opportunity to learn to be comfortable with discomfort.
In the studio, it’s a chance to practice contentment in the midst of the vagaries of living in a human body.
Six tips for being comfortable waiting for something to happen
Wait in short bursts
Instead of jumping into the deep end of the nothing-is-happening pool, wade in.
Practice waiting in short bursts.
Sometimes it’s enough to allow impatience/confusion/boredom to exist for a few seconds.
When I ask you what you observe and you can’t find an answer, pause for just a second and allow yourself to be confused.
When you start an exercise and nothing connects, wait a second before making an adjustment.
When you don’t know how to do a new exercise, wait for a moment before asking questions.
Even practicing one second at a time will help.
Think of waiting as a physical sensation
When you get frustrated because “nothing is happening”, it’s easy to understand the experience as a thought or emotion.
Next time, try something new.
Imagine the experience as physical.
What are the sensations? Where does it live in your body?
What does “nothing is happening” feel like? How would you describe it to a child?
In the studio, you experience many sensations, from the tension of the springs to the temperature of the mat beneath your body. You might feel dull pressure, sharp pain, coolness, throbbing, tingling, contraction, release, or warmth as you move (as just a few examples).
Imagine this experience as just another.
Wait while not waiting
Many people are content not doing anything while doing something else.
For example, some people knit while waiting. Some doodle or color. Still others do nothing while fishing.
There are many soothing, repetitive activities that allow you to be calm while nothing is happening.
Apply this tactic to your work in the studio.
If you are frustrated looking directly for an experience that you can’t find, turn your attention elsewhere. Do familiar exercises. Repeat the basics. Get yourself moving.
By focusing on familiar, repetitive movement, you soften. Your expectations aren’t as tight and it’s easier to be content when nothing is happening.
Choose your discomfort wisely
Sometimes one type of movement is inherently more interesting to you than another.
Use this preference to your advantage.
For example, some people prefer pushing against hard pressure. For them, exploring the experience with heavy feedback is more engaging than subtle feedback.
For others, they prefer subtlety. Soft springs. Tiny movement. Deep, internal sensations.
Whatever you prefer, use your preference to get started. Pick an experience that engages you enough that when nothing is happening, you’re still interested in seeing what comes next.
Practice
Grab moments during your day to practice waiting when nothing is happening.
We tend to pack our days so we imagine these moments are rare. But in reality, our days are full of moments when nothing happens.
Waiting for the water to warm before doing the dishes. Waiting for the computer to reboot. Waiting for the baby to fall asleep.
Practice with routine, daily events so when you are faced with something bigger, more important, the twitchy, impatient, fearful part of not-knowing is familiar.
You’ll be accustomed to the discomfort.
Drop your “shoulds”
Everyone says this so often that it’s cliche but honestly, it’s good advice.
It’s so good that I recommend that you even drop the idea that you “should” learn to be content waiting when nothing is happening.
Everyone is wired differently. Everyone’s path is their own. Everyone finds different things engaging.
And most importantly, all experience is just experience.
So if diving into the experience of “nothing is happening” isn’t your cup of tea, pour a different cup of tea.
I’m content watching water start to boil but it’s not for everyone. Don’t let anyone tell you that you “should” learn to do it.
So the next time I ask you what you notice and you can’t notice anything at all…
Or the next time I encourage you to wait to see what unfolds in a process that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere…
You have a choice.
You can dive into the experience of waiting when nothing is happening.
Or you can roll your eyes at me and just move your body.
It all counts.
It’s all the experience of living.
A special thank you to
for the inspiration for this post. Bo has some really interesting articles that weave science and embodiment. Be sure to check her blog out.
I'll be sharing this with my readers on my FEB 4th publication about the importance of silence. THANK YOU!
Love this, Julia! I think you have a bit of a superpower. This is a bit off-piste but it makes me wonder if it's shaped your relationship to screens at all? I feel like my phone has damaged my ability to be content when nothing is happening. Do you feel like your inherent ability to do nothing has helped you develop a healthier relationship to your digital life than if you didn't have that ability?