The Beautiful Art of Having Nothing to Do

There is a strange thing that happens when you finally have a day with absolutely nothing on the calendar.

You spend the entire week looking forward to it. No appointments. No obligations. No errands that absolutely must be done. Just an entire Saturday stretching out in front of you.

And then you wake up and think, Well, what am I supposed to do with myself?

That was me this past Saturday.

For someone who genuinely enjoys her own company, I can be surprisingly uncomfortable with having nothing planned. I’m usually cooking something, organizing something, decorating something, or dreaming up my next completely unnecessary but thoroughly enjoyable project.

But this Saturday, there was no project. No party to prepare for. No place I needed to be.
Just me, my house, and a whole lot of hours.

So I decided to let the day unfold.

I started with coffee and yogurt by the fireplace. Nothing particularly remarkable, except that I wasn’t rushing through breakfast while mentally reviewing everything I needed to accomplish.

I took a long, hot shower. Washed my cozy fall flannel bedding. Pulled on my Ole Miss sweatshirt and settled into the kind of Saturday that practically begs for college football.

Alex brought home Little Caesars pizza for lunch, which meant I didn’t even have to think about cooking.

We watched Mizzou football, followed by Alabama and LSU. I worked on my autumn paint-by-numbers painting while the games played in the background.

The dogs settled in, too. Archie, who spends a remarkable amount of his waking hours testing the limits of my patience with his barking, eventually curled up practically on my lap and started snoring.

It’s difficult to hold a grudge against someone who looks that sweet while sleeping.

Even if that someone is a tiny, four-legged menace.

As the afternoon turned into evening, I decided to make chicken and dumplings.

Not because I’d planned some elaborate Saturday supper, but because I had a rotisserie chicken, some frozen biscuits, and enough ingredients to make something warm and comforting.

I made a broth with onion, celery, garlic, and seasonings. Added the chicken. Cut the biscuits into little pieces and dropped them into the pot.

And waited.
And waited some more.

Those biscuits were apparently determined to remain doughy forever.

Eventually, I had a big pot of creamy chicken and dumplings.

Warm, silky, comforting. The kind of meal that feels like it should be served in an old farmhouse on a cold November evening.

I remember thinking, This tastes like fall on a country farm.

And somehow, that seemed exactly right for the day.

By evening, I had clean flannel sheets waiting, college football on television, a full stomach, and absolutely nowhere else I wanted to be.

I hadn’t accomplished anything particularly impressive.
There was no major project crossed off a list. No exciting outing. No story that would make anyone say, “Wow, what an amazing Saturday!”

But it was an amazing Saturday.

Just not in the way I’ve sometimes been conditioned to recognize.

I’ve spent a lot of years building a life that feels peaceful, comfortable, and genuinely mine. A home I love. Traditions I enjoy. Relationships that matter. Little rituals that make ordinary days feel special.

And yet, sometimes I still catch myself thinking that I need to be doing something to make a day worthwhile.

Maybe that’s the lesson I’m slowly learning.

A day doesn’t need to be filled to be fulfilling.

Sometimes the most wonderful thing you can do with an empty Saturday is leave it empty long enough to discover what you actually feel like doing.

Maybe that’s painting while football plays in the background.

Maybe it’s making a pot of chicken and dumplings.

Maybe it’s sitting by the fire with a cup of coffee while the world carries on without you.

And maybe, just maybe, the real luxury isn’t having somewhere wonderful to go.

It’s realizing that you’re already somewhere wonderful.

Home.