By Dr. Robert White
We have traveled often and far this summer. I recognize that travel is a privilege that should never be taken for granted. I am grateful for every mile, sight, and experience along the way.
The journey was an adventure. The days were slow.
And the time was filled with laughter, rest, and long conversations with friends often over good food.
Somewhere between the wide open spaces of the American west, the majesty of Alaskan glaciers, and the sounds of waves crashing on shore of the Yucatán Peninsula, I remembered something I had forgotten—something that I have never been good at:
the sweetness of doing nothing.
The Italians call it la dolce far niente—a phrase that sounds like poetry and feels like permission.
It means the sweetness of doing nothing—of resting, lingering , letting go of the constant drive to produce or prove.
It means being fully present in a moment that asks nothing of you but your presence.
I grew up in a world where the appearance of laziness was something to be avoided at all costs. You worked hard. You stayed busy. You got things done.
Rest was earned—if you had time for it at all.
And to be clear: I still believe in hard work. There’s dignity in effort, and purpose can be deeply fulfilling.
But there’s also a quiet truth we too often ignore:
We move fast and are worn out.
Not driven by purpose—but from performance. Not from meaning—but from anxious toil.
Psalm 127 says it plainly:
“It is in vain that you rise up early and go late to rest, eating the bread of anxious toil; for He gives to His beloved sleep.”
We wear busyness like a badge. We’ve been taught to measure our worth by what we produce. And somewhere along the way, we’ve forgotten how to be still—how to receive, how to enjoy, how to rest.
That’s why travel matters. It disrupts our hustle. It opens space. Travel reminded me that life isn’t something to conquer. It’s something to savor.
You don’t need to leave on a vacation to experience this.
You can find it on a back porch.
In the company of a good friend.
In the early quiet of a Sunday morning.
Not everyone gets the chance to travel.
But everyone needs rest.
Everyone needs room for awe, joy, and a sense of presence.
So maybe today, as you feel the pull of anxious toil and the push to prove your worth, you’ll hear a gentler voice.
The voice that says: You are loved. You are enough. You can rest now.
Because the sweetness of doing nothing
may be exactly what your soul has been longing for.
EnSpirit 