The sunlight tickled my face as my eyes fluttered open. At 5:30 am, I was surprisingly awake, cautiously crawling out of the hotel bed to avoid waking up my friend next to me. This past summer, I traveled to Louisville, Kentucky for a school competition. Unable to fall back asleep, I climbed up on the window ledge. I wrapped my arms around my knees, popped in my AirPods, and watched the sun rise. The fluffy clouds mingled with the fine mist that hung over the city. The golden sun lazily lifted itself above the Ohio River as if it was reluctant to start the day. Even the murky, dirt-ridden river seemed to sparkle under the sun’s warm gaze. In the street below, a dog and their owner jauntily trotted down the sidewalk. Two birds perched on a tree next to my window were deep into conversation. The whole city seemed under the same tranquil trance, like an invisible string was tying us together somehow. Or maybe it was just the Taylor Swift song I was listening to. 

I seldom feel such peace. My day usually consists of a series of monotonous tasks, dragging me from one activity to the next: Go to school. Do your schoolwork. Go home. Do your homework. Eat. Sleep. This routine, drilled into my head since middle school, has rendered me incapable of idleness. I always need to keep myself busy, whether that’s doing homework, volunteering, or just scrolling through Youtube. But on that window ledge, looking out at the sleepy city, there was nothing to do but exist. Although uncomfortable at first, the idleness allowed me to truly be present in that moment. Slowly, the pressure of productivity wore off as the sun’s shadow stretched across the city.

Eventually, the cotton candy clouds lost their magical hue and settled behind the lethargic sun. The dog owner hurried home, realizing he was late for work. The birds’ chatter fizzled out as they parted ways, heading back to their own nests. The spell was lifted, and I was left yearning for that euphoric feeling again. Maybe idleness isn’t as bad as I thought.