I have a confession.
Today I spent exactly three hours doing absolutely nothing.
Wait — that's not quite right. I did plenty of things. I sat and watched clouds. I drew a fat cat that looked nothing like a cat in the corner of my notebook, next to an unnamed tree and two circles I couldn't explain. I walked to the end of the alley, bought a milk tea of uncertain flavor, sat down on a front step, and watched people pass by for an hour straight.
No deadline. No Figma. No tutorial. No "next step in the learning roadmap."
And I felt... wonderful.
Why are we so obsessed with productivity?
I'm not sure when exactly "doing nothing" became something to be ashamed of.
But it seems like it's been that way for a while. Friends ask each other "what did you do this weekend?" and the ideal answer is something busy and useful: "I finished a new course," "I built a side project," "I got through that productivity series." But if you say "I stayed home and let my mind wander" — you usually get a polite smile and a look that edges toward pity.
We're taught early that time is a non-renewable resource, to be used efficiently. That youth is our only real capital, to be invested immediately and constantly. That if you're not grinding today, someone else will grind past you.
Not entirely wrong. But not entirely right, either.
Because in that relentless cycle, people tend to forget: the most "useless" things are often the secret ingredients of creativity.
The afternoon I spent watching clouds — I learned nothing from it. But I figured out a way to present information I'd been stuck on all week. The meaningless fat cat in my notebook — it serves no project. But after drawing it, my head felt significantly lighter. The aimless walk — produced no output. But I came home with something that can't be measured in numbers: the feeling of being alive, not just completing tasks.
People who've worked creatively for years will tell you — good ideas don't come when you're actively trying to have good ideas. They come in the shower, on walks, staring out the window. The brain needs rest to process. And "wasting time" is exactly how I give mine that rest.
Memories are the one thing nobody can take from you
I ask myself something sometimes: if I look back at my twenties when I'm thirty, what do I want to see?
A long list of certifications and milestones? Maybe. Those matter, I won't pretend otherwise.
But I also want to see that afternoon on the front step with a milk tea watching people pass by. The aimless walk that ended with discovering a little bakery I became a regular at. The evening I spent an entire hour coloring in a children's coloring book because I spotted it in a bookstore and couldn't resist.
Money and achievements can be earned again. But the recklessness, the health, and the freedom of your twenties — that only happens once.
Don't let thirty-year-old you look back at these years and find only computer screens, deadlines, and exhaustion. Youth isn't a KPI sheet. It's an experience — and experiences need space to actually happen.
The "useless" moments aren't wasted time. They're the necessary rests in a piece of music. Without the rests, there's no rhythm. Without rhythm, there's only noise.
Now, go outside
I know you're reading this, probably sitting in front of a screen with a to-do list waiting.
I'm not going to say "drop everything, yolo." I'll just say this:
Pick one afternoon this week. Close the laptop. Go outside. Buy whatever you like to drink — milk tea, ice cream, a coffee to go, anything. Then walk without needing a destination. Look at things you usually pass by without actually seeing.
Don't take pictures to post. Don't listen to a productivity podcast. Just be there.
I promise you — that afternoon won't be wasted. It will give you back something no course can teach: the feeling of living your own life, not running through someone else's.
Your youth is here. Right now.
Don't let it pass by while you're busy preparing to live it.