I’m sitting on the beach doing nothing. I did the same thing yesterday. I also did nothing sitting on my hotel balcony. OK, I was listening to the waves, but doing certain things is allowed—reading, for instance. I have a couple of days left to my vacation, and I plan to do nothing in them also. But I’m finding that it’s not that easy to do nothing.
Things I am not doing: I am not calling home for messages. I am not reading texts or emails on my phone. I am not scrolling for news. My phone, in fact, is in my bedside drawer at the hotel. The hardest part for me: not doing Wordle.
Going for walks is an allowable do-nothing activity, so strolling—as distinguished from scrolling—around the beachside town of Rehoboth, Delaware, a couple of hours east of Washington, D.C., is allowed. Shopping, not so much. Reading T-shirts in a shop, OK: “If a man says he will fix it, he will. There’s no need to remind him every six months.” Now that’s worth an appreciative look. And “I’m going to go stand outside, so if anyone asks, tell them I’m outstanding.” There’s also “Exercise? I thought you said extra fries.” That could be a Thrasher’s reference, but more on that later.
Maybe I'd better explain. I travel a lot. In my work, most trips are filled round-the-clock with story-gathering activities. I do all the must-sees and track down those unknowns off the beaten track. Lots of planning, organizing, researching—even the restaurants have to be studied. So the idea of a do-nothing vacation had a lot of appeal. Relaxing. Stress-free. Laid-back. I just didn’t know how much work it was going to be.
Restaurants are tricky. Rather than seeking out the umbrella-clad cocktail du jour, I was much happier hanging out at a local bar midday with my go-to Fireball over light ice. I’m an exercise fiend at home, but here, raising a glass from the top of Whiskey Jack’s bar—could any name be more perfect for what I was seeking out?—was about as much exertion as I could muster. The resultant smile on my face almost pushed me over the top. I think I was getting the hang of this do-nothing concept.
Rather than research the de rigueur restaurants of Rehoboth, I opted instead to stop for ice cream and the area’s famous Thrasher’s French Fries. Reading the weird ice cream flavors in the street-front parlor that boasts 100 different flavors was almost as much fun as reading T-shirts: “I Don’t Give a Fork,” “May the 4th Be With You” and “Better than Sex.” Reading 100 ice cream flavors is time-consuming, however. How fortunate there was nothing I actually needed to do.
Does sitting on a boardwalk bench with my fries—somehow unlike any other (Thrasher’s refuses to provide ketchup because, I assume, that would tarnish the original flavor)—and people-watching count as an activity? So many different humans going in so many different directions, all so intent on their own drummers—it was exhausting to watch. I was just happy to stay exactly where I was, watching the seagulls, busily squawking and hurtling toward a dropped french fry. Seagulls are actually more exhausting. I felt even more of a need to just unwind.
Truth be told, at one beach bar it was so bright and noisy I found it very hard to chill out the way I'd envisioned. Next time: dark, quiet and low-key. So first night out, big mistake.
Feeding—so to speak—my preference for down-and-dirty restaurants as opposed to white tablecloths, the comfortable and casual Zogg’s perfectly matched my mind-numbing mood on night out No. 2. Except for the menu with 100 rums, rivaling the 100 ice cream flavors. I could get testy. Resisting the threat of stressful decision-making angst, I simply opted for my favorites, thus enjoying the novelty of such variety while avoiding indulging in executive-level anxiety. A win-win. I didn’t have to do anything except eat and drink.
But, of course, any further activity-involved nightlife did not qualify. Back to my do-nothing balcony. Listening to waves never disappoints.
There are arcades in Rehoboth, but I didn’t go to. I didn’t bike-ride on the boardwalk. I avoided mini golf. I did at times, however, find myself lusting after all the emails I wasn’t reading. Again, hard work to do nothing.
The next day, on the beach again, I didn’t for one minute miss playing Frisbee while relaxing on my chaise lounge. The one exception to my inactivity, however, was to indulge in one of my most fun undertakings: diving into waves. I allowed myself that delightful diversion before returning to a renewed level of slothlike behavior. And maybe one more relaxing drink at Whiskey Jack’s.
So is this all much ado about nothing? You bet!
