In Praise of the Empty Hour
In my pocket, there's an old watch that doesn't work. I keep it as a reminder that time isn't meant to be measured but experienced. Its frozen hands point perpetually to 4:15, creating what I've come to call my daily empty hour.
This isn't about meditation or mindfulness apps. It's about reclaiming chunks of time from the jaws of productivity. Unstructured, unoptimized, gloriously empty hours that belong to no one but yourself.
We've forgotten how to leave spaces blank. Our calendars resemble game boards where every square must be filled. But consider the Japanese concept of ma – the negative space that gives meaning to form. Without empty hours, our full ones lose their shape.
Last week, I experimented with blocking out 4:00-5:00 PM each day. Not for anything specific. Not for "self-care" or "creative thinking" or any other productivity-adjacent excuse. Just empty time. The results were unexpected.
On Monday, I watched dust motes dance in sunlight for twenty minutes. Tuesday, I followed a whim to sketch the view from my window. Wednesday, I napped. Thursday, I wrote three pages of terrible poetry. Friday, I simply sat and noticed how my coffee got cold.
None of these activities were planned. None were optimized. None will appear on my resume. Yet each felt more vital than many of my "productive" hours.
This isn't about finding more time. It's about creating spaces where time stops being a resource to exploit. Where the tyranny of the calendar falls away and we remember how to simply be.
Try it. Choose an hour. Guard it fiercely. Let it stay empty. What emerges in that space might surprise you. Or nothing might emerge at all. Both outcomes are equally perfect.
Remember: the most profound moments in life rarely appear in your Google Calendar. They arise in the spaces between, in the hours we leave beautifully, intentionally empty.
The watch in my pocket keeps terrible time, but perfect space.