Dolce far niente

Laurentian sunset

I love listening to the Italian language. It has a lyrical quality that makes even the most mundane phrase sound beautiful. It’s always spoken with such passion, I cannot help but be riveted.  I was first introduced to the phrase dolce far niente in a book – Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert, which then became a film where I could hear the words spoken aloud in that scintillating, sultry way.  As beautiful as it sounds, its meaning is even more enticing: the sweetness of doing nothing.  Dolce far niente is more than a simple turn of phrase for Italians; it is a way of being, a way of living, a way of connecting to the joy and brightness of each moment.  To me, dolce far niente is the epitome of mindfulness, as it embodies one of the pillars of our practice: non-doing.

So much of our time is spent ‘doing’. We make plans, we complete tasks, we check things off our to-do lists – that’s DONE, I’ve been productive, good for me!  While, of course, we need to do things – our very survival depends upon it – I have come to believe that it is equally vital for us to incorporate some healthy doses of non-doing and undoing into our daily life.  To live mindfully, we invite awareness into the tasks we complete each day, and this helps us stay connected to the present moment rather than becoming mired in past regrets and future worries.  That same mindful awareness can also ground and connect us when we are doing nothing in particular at all.  For example, your lunch break arrives and you head outside to sit on a park bench and enjoy some fresh air while you eat. You eat your food mindfully, noticing its taste and texture in your mouth, the feel of it in your hands, the transition from a sensation of hunger to one of fullness. As you savour the last bite, you might be inclined to reach for your phone to clear out a few emails, or you might have brought a book to read or a podcast to listen to.  These things can certainly all be done with the same mindful awareness you practiced while eating your lunch – but what if you decided instead to spend some time doing nothing at all? What if you simply sat on that park bench and allowed each moment to unfurl before you, in its own time and its own way, without judgment or attachment or expectations, without self-talk telling you to ‘do’ something with your time?

In a previous post, I touched on the healing benefits of finding stillness, of allowing ourselves the opportunity to simply do nothing (check it out here, along with the video of a wonderful TED Talk by Pico Iyer on the art of stillness).  When we let go of the need to always be ‘doing’, we open ourselves to the limitless possibilities that each moment brings. We luxuriate in the moment, we experience it fully without any ideas or expectations about what it must be.  Releasing ourselves, even briefly, from our incessant need to do and accomplish and produce, enables us to be truly and profoundly present. We can bask in the glow of each moment as it unfolds, we can feel its warmth and its joy, we can savour the sweetness of doing nothing at all.

Wishing you a day filled with simple joys and quiet moments for dolce far niente.

Where no shadow can touch

I recently went for a long walk in the woods as daylight was fading, and as I gazed into the sky I felt light enough to fly and at the same time deeply rooted.  I was fully present, welcoming each sight, sound, taste, touch, and smell that my senses encountered, and yet releasing them as easily as they arrived, remaining open and receptive to whatever the next moment held.  When the walk ended and my focus returned to conversations and tasks, echoes of that feeling of lightness remained for some time.  This is the healing beauty of mindfulness, of truly inhabiting the here and now.

Boiled down to its essence, mindfulness is about being present.  When we live in this moment now, we are not plagued with regret about past events, and we do not feel a crush of worry about the future.  Being in the here and now means that we have released our attachment to past and future and we have opened ourselves to whatever the present moment might bring.  Unfortunately, for most of us, being here now is a fleeting experience, as the distractions of daily life dangle before us like juicy carrots, stealing our attention away.  We chase after the carrots and they lead us down one rabbit hole after another, through a maze of tunnels constructed from our past conversations, relationships and traumas, our future plans and worries and what-ifs. We could spend all of our time in this maze, our attention tumbling from one thought to the next, one regret, one worry to the next. Or instead, we could harness the power of mindfulness to bring us back to the surface, breathing in fresh air, opening our eyes to the clouds and the trees and letting them return us to this moment.

When my thoughts are racing and I get lost in the maze of past and future, gazing skyward is a simple way for me to pause and reconnect with the present.  There is something about the sky that calms me, quiets the busyness within, anchors my attention in the here and now.  Perhaps it is the ever-changing nature of the sky – clouds of all shapes and sizes, endless shades of blue, birds floating in and out of view as they navigate the breeze – an apt metaphor for the impermanence of life itself.  And then there is the miraculous experience of sunrise and sunset, every single day the sky ablaze with new colours, a reminder that even in our darkest times, there is still beauty to be found.  When our path seems unclear, when challenges abound, we need something to remind us of that beauty, the beauty of possibility and change and growth that lies in each moment. 

What makes you feel fully present? What anchors your attention in the here and now and allows you to open to its possibilities? Is there something simple you can reach for when your heart feels heavy, when your mind feels scattered and your attention is scurrying through a maze of what-ifs and worries?  Mindfulness is not a cure for all that ails us, but it is a powerful tool, a wise and supportive friend that can take our hand and lead us to a place of light when we feel mired in darkness.  Though we may share a common desire to live fully in each moment, the ways in which we connect to that moment are unique.  Maybe it is the sound and rhythm of your nourishing breath that grounds you. Maybe bringing your hand to rest on your heart reconnects you to the experience of this moment. Maybe you open your ears to the sounds around you and are returned to the here and now.  Or maybe, like me, you gaze skyward: “Look, up at the sky. There is a light, a beauty up there, that no shadow can touch.” J.R.R. Tolkien