Thinking is a luxury

Okay, you’re going to have to brace yourself. I am going to meander a bit before I get to the main point of this post.

What I want to talk about, how having time to think is a luxury, is triggered by two stories that have been rolling around in my mind. The first is about an interview I read many years ago with a well-known BBC international correspondent. He was reflecting on the early days of mobile phones, long before smartphones, when they were still considered a luxury item. A very expensive one. Only those in senior management were allocated a company mobile phone, and it was seen as a badge of privilege and importance.

He described negotiating his contract for a new posting in the New York office and how he managed to include a mobile phone as part of his benefits. At that time, it was considered an enormous advantage because until then, there were only landlines, and in the chaos of newsrooms, that made communication a nightmare. He felt he had been given a special tool, one that placed him at the cutting edge of modern journalism.

But about five or six years later, when mobile phones had become commonplace and everyone was expected to be reachable at all hours of the day and night, he negotiated for his next posting not to have one. He said that being able to work without a mobile phone had become a genuine perk. What was once a symbol of freedom had turned into a leash.

The second story is from my own life, when I was raising children about thirty-five years ago. Back then, most professional women worked. It was probably the first generation since the war that did so out of vocation rather than economic necessity. There was excitement in that, a sense of new possibility, but also enormous pressure.

Everyone was trying to make sense of the impossible: having children, working full days, maintaining relationships, caring for ageing parents, and keeping up friendships. Out of that tension emerged a myth that, when it came to children, “quality time” mattered more than “quantity time.” Half an hour of full attention before bedtime, the theory went, was better than being at home all day but distracted. Picture a woman in business attire reading to her children as they are tucked in bed, and another sitting dishevelled in front of the television, surrounded by mountains of laundry. One was held up as the ideal, the other as the warning.

I realised very quickly what nonsense that was. Children need you there as much as possible, not just for the highlights. Fortunately, living and working in Germany, both union and state regulations allowed for part-time work. So, for all the years my kids were growing up, and even many years after, I worked part-time. I tried every model there was: job sharing, flexible hours, reduced contracts. Of course, working part-time helped ease the family logistics, but mostly I did it because I genuinely wanted to spend time with my children.

I am so happy I did. The reality, though, is that working part-time created a cul-de-sac for my career. This only changed when I started working full-time again. It also had financial consequences, which I feel now as a pensioner. Despite more than forty years of work as an engineer and manager, my pension is modest. Those years of part-time made a real difference, though I would still make the same choice again. It was a luxury to have the choice to spend more time away from work, and I know not everyone has that.

All of this has been on my mind lately as I think about the idea of doing nothing. Family, friends, and even my therapist have told me for years to learn how to do nothing, because for decades I have always been working, always doing. Whether for work-related projects, creative pursuits, or volunteering, I am forever chugging away at completing tasks.

The idea of doing nothing initially felt wasteful to me, almost irresponsible. Once I started, I feared it might be a slippery slope to the realm of the couch potato. Yet what I discovered during those endless hours I spent sitting on deck simply watching the ocean was that “doing nothing” is really just another way society discourages us from claiming something deeply human. Because what it truly means is “giving yourself time to think.”

During those months at sea, I wrote every day and came up with more ideas than I could keep up with. I now believe it was not only because I was in a new and fascinating environment, but also because I had long stretches of time to sit, to stare, and to think. Reflection turned into creativity, and thinking itself became an art form.

Lately, I have been exploring the idea that time to think is itself a form of luxury. In the same way that my professional position once gave me the privilege to work part-time, or as that BBC correspondent said, the luxury of not being available to everyone, there is something deeply precious about the ability to slow down. To sit quietly and let thoughts unfurl without interruption is a privilege few of us allow ourselves anymore.

Maybe it is time we let go of the myth that people who appear to be doing nothing are wasting time. Perhaps they are doing something far more critical. Perhaps, given the right space, that apparent nothingness might turn into something remarkable, even mind-boggling.

.