I still remember Lake Como’s shimmer peaking through our rustic hotel window. Anderson and I sat on the edge of our beds in anticipation of the final dinner. The only way to describe our parting of ways was, well, bittersweet: he would return to Alaska and I would return to Illinois. Nonetheless, I tapped away at the tiny marbles littering the digital Mancala board; Talia was in her room with Dalia—Talia was the best at Mancala—all the Game Pigeon games for that matter. I was so focused on trying to outsmart her that I’d forgotten I was sitting right next to Anderson. I’d forgotten how little time we had left. Now, I wish I asked him about how he hunted with his metal bow and arrow, why he hated tourist cruises, or why he let his friends’ older sisters make fun of him so much. I regret the “it’s just downtime” and the “I have nothing to do” because I did have something to do—something I can never do again.
Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed playing Mancala—but not for all the right reasons. Compared to socializing after a long day of steep hikes, Mancala was an effortless activity that satiated my downtime. There was no intention behind those tired eyes—eyes who failed to see the value in those last moments with Anderson—all because I let myself pretend I had downtime. Where—if at all—does downtime deserve a place in our lives?
First, we need a better understanding of “downtime”. For all of my life, I thought games like Mancala were downtime; it turns out, most psychologists would disagree with me. An article from the Cleveland Clinic explains that phone games, social media, and TV don’t count as downtime because they involve “processing information”, which is why we need downtime in the first place. Instead, they would say that Mancala was a response to boredom: my intent was to fill my spare time—that’s not downtime. Downtime is when you make room for spare time—like going on a walk to, well, walk. As psychologist Alexandra Stratyner puts it, “when you’re not trying to accomplish anything, you have space to just be.”
Nowadays, it’s very hard to “just be”; you won’t just stumble into downtime—unintentional downtime is a sign of “Mancala downtime”. What makes downtime a challenge is that, most times, your brain is so overrun with data that it can’t realize that it’s “overheating.” If you don’t schedule regular maintenance checks to cool off, your processing will take longer, distort, and end up burning you out, but those breaks won’t work if you don’t let your mind wander. According to The American Institute of Stress, setting your mind adrift is necessary to avoid “attentional fatigue”, where your brain is so tired of concentrating that it can’t any longer. When you have “in between time”—like standing in a line to check out—your brain is performing a vital recovery process, and purposeful concentration on anything infringes on that recovery.
But, if downtime is such a necessity for our wellbeing, why doesn’t everyone practice it? It’s about time—literally. We pretend time is a commodity: spend it, waste it, earn it. If you treat your life like a depreciating asset, you’ll end up cramming your day with a week’s worth of equipment; that’s not sustainable. According to a Harvard Magazine survey, one in four teens reported being actively burned out. The study underlines that each self-care practice—like hanging out with a friend—tracked with a 29% drop in the expectancy of burnout. It’s not magic, it’s downtime. When we stop thinking of life as an act of discovery, we teach ourselves at an early age that we can’t take a step back.
Stepping back—that’s what downtime’s about: appreciating time. Time is where you are in the universe. Downtime lets you see that clearly. It’s not Mancala, not running errands, not regretting the past nor worrying about the future. Downtime is the state of noticing your life—feeling life. You know what? I think I’ll shoot Anderson a text, up there in Juno—see how life’s holding up for him. Right now.