When things get soggy
On embracing micro-discomforts
If burnout is from doing too much, I’m more inclined to find myself at the other end of the spectrum: soggy from doing too little.
Sogginess can be difficult to pinpoint. When did necessary rest become avoidance?
To return to my beloved sponge analogy, we oscillate between absorbing and squeezing, between input and output, between preparation and action. Both states have value, and each enables the other.
Society tends to glorify the squeeze—the doing. But there has been more recognition of the absorb phase—a plethora of books, my own included, speak to the value of rest, doing less, and slowing down.
When we can find it, space in our days can bring insight, clarity and meaning. We need time to decompress, defocus, let the mind drift—otherwise we can thwart new ideas and ways of thinking.
But what happens when the oscillation between states stops, and we stand still at either end?
When our days are crammed with doing, we might reach a point we feel squeezed dry—we’ve got nothing left to give. We might go through the motions, but feel empty.
Conversely, when our days lack urgency, we can become soggy—we’re oversaturated with time, ruminations, distractions. We can be mired in inertia.
While some people enjoy a faster pace and the adrenalin that can come with being busy, others, myself included, tilt towards the opposite. We’d rather potter than push. We’re more content absorbing than squeezing.
Of course, either pace contains nuance—what can be a choice for some might be a burden for others. Some people might be busy-by-ambition, others due to financial pressures. Similarly chronic illness or work interruptions can make slowing down the only option.
Personally, I don't have any dependents or a nine-to-five job, so I have what I see as spacious days. Much of this has been by design—pairing my life back, reducing my living expenses, and rearranging my own ambitions has introduced certain freedoms. Yet sometimes without structure, that freedom can spill in all directions. In other words, I have more time to get soggy.
Being in a state of soggy can feel like a comfortable discomfort. It’s akin to feeling sluggish from not exercising, yet continuing to skip that brisk morning walk even though we know it would be the very thing to shift the sluggishness.
There are many ways we experience this comfortable discomfort in modern life.
A recent piece from
explores the impacts dopamine culture: “The fastest growing sector of the culture economy is distraction […] Our brain rewards these brief bursts of distraction. The neurochemical dopamine is released, and this makes us feel good—so we want to repeat the stimulus.”What feels good in the moment doesn’t necessarily feel good for long. The endless scroll of distraction-as-entertainment is making our minds soggy.
As Gioia explains, the distraction or stimulus releases dopamine (pleasure) and creates a desire for more, which is reinforced through habit formation or addiction.
“The more addicts rely on these stimuli, the less pleasure they receive. At a certain point, this cycle creates anhedonia—the complete absence of enjoyment in an experience supposedly pursued for pleasure,” writes Gioia.
I’ve seen this model in my own relationship with alcohol. What was once pleasurable—drinks with friends—became an unpleasurable desire for more. I had to break the loop with abstinence.
And I see a similar pattern when I’ve tipped over into a soggy state. Instead of oscillating between absorbing and squeezing, I become caught in a downward spiral of comfortable discomfort.
Such a model could arguably also precede burnout for some. What was once pleasurable desire—a constant productivity high—eventually becomes unpleasurable.
So what is the antidote? When feeling soggy, it’s not as straightforward as just doing more. What is the use of finding ourselves flinging between two extremes?
Instead, I’ve had to find a way to nudge myself out from my comfortable discomfort.
On embracing micro-discomforts
To create a sustainable cycle between space to think and space to do, below I’ve shared how I experiment with various micro-discomforts in my day.