I realised recently I do little for the sake of it.
I try to watch the full moon rise once a month.
I fill a diary with mundane details of the day.
I often get into bed at 8pm and read.
But in the majority of things I do, I’m trying to accomplish something.
When I walk each day, it’s to reach 10,000 steps. When I write, it’s for a deadline, a pay cheque, an audience. Arguably, even keeping a diary and reading contribute to my work. It’s difficult to find anything purely unmotivated by the outcome—surely it’s not just me and the moon?
I admire those who do more things for the sake of it.
The friend who makes pasta by hand and hangs it around her house to dry on a Saturday.
Another who plonks a block of clay on her dining table and winds up making a salt cellar or vase.
Another who takes their camera for long walks, capturing portraits of strangers in the golden hour.
There’s a beautiful inefficiency to doing things for the sake of it. There’s a reverence for the process. There’s a stunning solitude.
Some may say, well, you need ample time to do things just for the sake of it.
And I think, well, I could make the time and I still don’t.
Others may say, doing things just for the sake of it isn’t a priority.
And I think, but isn’t doing things for the sake of it the same as doing things for the love of it?
And isn’t love the point of everything?
You can have all the talent, determination, work ethic, ambition, and drive, but if you don’t pay attention to what you love, it can all be a little empty.
I’ve felt a little empty lately, and so I’ve been wondering if doing things for the sake of it would shift the malaise.
To think of things I could do for the sake of it, I inspected what exactly these things have in common.