Life Thoughts: Lakeside Reflections and the Art of Doing Nothing

Let’s be honest, life can be a relentless treadmill of deadlines, expectations, and that nagging feeling that you’ve forgotten something important (like whether or not you’ve turned the oven off). But every now and then, there’s a rare moment of peace, a pocket of stillness where the world stops spinning and you’re reminded that, maybe, just maybe, it’s okay to do absolutely nothing.

For me, one of those moments happened by a lake. I didn’t plan it. I wasn’t there to soul search or have an epiphany. I just needed a break, so I found a patch of grass, sat down, and let the world carry on without me for a while.

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Step One: Finding the Lake (and the Courage to Sit Still)

I’m not the type of person who can easily relax. My brain is like a web browser with 47 tabs open—always flitting from one thing to the next, never satisfied, always worrying that the Wi-Fi will go out. So, when I stumbled across this lake on a quiet afternoon, my first instinct wasn’t to stop and soak in the serenity. It was to keep moving, to tick something off my imaginary to do list.

But something about the water caught my attention. It wasn’t the postcard perfect kind of lake you see in travel brochures, no crystal clear waters or majestic swans gliding gracefully across the surface. It was simple, unassuming, and somehow exactly what I needed. So, I sat down. And for once, I didn’t pull out my phone or try to multitask. I just… sat.

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The Art of Doing Nothing

At first, it felt weird. I’m not used to doing nothing. My brain kept nudging me, like an annoying coworker, reminding me of all the “productive” things I could be doing instead. But as the minutes ticked by, something shifted. The quiet started to feel less like an empty void and more like a blank canvas—something to be filled, not with tasks or noise, but with presence.

I watched the ripples on the water, the way they danced and shimmered in the sunlight. I listened to the rustling of the trees, the distant chirping of birds, and the occasional plop of a fish breaking the surface. And slowly, almost imperceptibly, my thoughts began to quiet down.

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The Existential Rabbit Hole

Of course, no moment of peace is complete without a touch of existential dread. As I sat there, staring at the lake, my mind couldn’t resist going down the rabbit hole. What’s the point of it all? Am I doing enough with my life? Should I have studied something more practical in university?

But instead of spiraling into anxiety, I let the questions linger. I didn’t try to answer them or solve the mystery of existence. I just let them float, like leaves on the water, drifting aimlessly until they faded into the background. It was oddly liberating, like giving myself permission to not have it all figured out.

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Nature’s Therapy Session

There’s something about being in nature that forces you to slow down. Maybe it’s the lack of Wi-Fi, or maybe it’s the fact that trees don’t care about your email inbox. Whatever it is, sitting by that lake felt like a much-needed reset button. It wasn’t a grand, life changing moment there were no violins playing in the background, no sudden epiphanies. It was simple, quiet, and deeply restorative.

I thought about how often we rush through life, always chasing the next thing, never pausing to appreciate what’s right in front of us. The lake didn’t rush. The trees didn’t rush. They existed, unapologetically, in their own time. And for a little while, I did too.

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The Squirrel That Stole the Show

Just when I thought I was reaching peak Zen, a squirrel decided to crash the party. It appeared out of nowhere, darting across the grass like it was late for an important meeting. For a few minutes, I watched as it scavenged for nuts, its tiny paws working furiously, its tail twitching like a furry metronome.

It was a ridiculous, adorable reminder that life doesn’t have to be so serious. Here was this tiny creature, completely unbothered by the weight of the world, focused solely on the task at hand. Watching it, I couldn’t help but laugh. If a squirrel can survive without overthinking everything, surely I can too.

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The Power of Reflection

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a warm golden light over the lake, I felt a strange mix of emotions. There was gratitude for the stillness, for the squirrel, for the fact that I hadn’t fallen into the water. But there was also a quiet determination to carry this feeling with me, to find more moments like this in the chaos of everyday life.

Reflection doesn’t have to be dramatic or profound. Sometimes, it’s as simple as sitting by a lake and letting yourself be. No agenda, no expectations, just a chance to reconnect with the world—and with yourself.

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Final Thoughts: Life Lessons from a Lake

If there’s one thing I learned from that afternoon, it’s this: doing nothing isn’t a waste of time. It’s a chance to recharge, to reflect, and to remind yourself that life isn’t a race. We spend so much time chasing after things—success, happiness, approval—that we forget to enjoy the journey.

So, if you ever find yourself by a lake, or a park, or even just a quiet corner of your home, take a moment to stop and sit. Watch the water. Listen to the birds. Let your thoughts come and go without judgment. And if a squirrel shows up, consider it a bonus.

Because sometimes, the best thing you can do is nothing at all.