The Sweetness of Doing Nothing
The Sweetness of Doing Nothing
I Finally Found My Monastery
There is a strange kind of peace that arrives when you stop searching.
Not because you found the perfect answer.
Not because everything in your life suddenly became perfect.
But because, somewhere along the way, you finally realize:
Maybe I was looking in the wrong direction.
I have spent much of my life moving.
Creating.
Working.
Planning.
Producing.
Traveling.
Building.
Helping.
Searching.
And lately, I realized something almost comical.
I have been creating music at such a ridiculous pace that I suddenly stopped and counted.
Almost five hundred songs in a year or two.
Five hundred.
😂
And for a moment, my old operating system kicked in:
Download this one.
Finish that one.
Release this.
Improve that.
Don't waste time.
Keep going.
Be productive.
But then I stopped.
And I thought:
Julie... that's enough.
You don't have to rush.
You've already created so much.
You don't have to turn every beautiful moment into another task.
You can simply enjoy it.
That was when I discovered something I had forgotten:
The sweetness of doing nothing.
The Old Operating System
For so long, productivity felt almost like a moral virtue.
If I was doing something, I felt useful.
If I was creating, I felt alive.
If I was accomplishing, I felt safe.
If I was busy, I felt like I was moving forward.
And when I wasn't doing anything?
There was always that little voice:
“You should be doing something.”
But I'm beginning to unlearn that voice.
Maybe rest isn't wasted time.
Maybe stillness isn't laziness.
Maybe an empty afternoon isn't an empty life.
Maybe sometimes the most productive thing we can do is stop producing.
Sit.
Breathe.
Look outside.
Take a bath.
Listen to music.
Drink something slowly.
Watch the sunlight move across the room.
Let our mind wander.
Do absolutely nothing.
And discover that nothing was actually missing.
The Girl Who Wanted to Be a Nun
This realization unexpectedly brought me back to my childhood.
When I was in high school in the Philippines, I wanted to become a nun.
I was attending a Catholic school and was deeply involved in church and community activities.
I helped the nuns with their outreach programs.
We collected money from students every Monday and used it to help communities in need.
I was involved in the chapel.
I sang in church.
I sang in school.
I was part of the choir.
I became president of our glee club.
I loved music.
I loved helping people.
I loved the feeling of being part of something meaningful.
And there was a nun who gave me a necklace.
At the time, I thought:
Maybe this is a sign.
I remember thinking that if I still had that necklace, perhaps I was meant to become a nun.
And then somehow...
I lost it.
Or perhaps it simply disappeared.
😂
Obviously, I didn't become a nun.
But looking back now, I wonder whether the vocation itself ever really disappeared.
Perhaps it simply changed shape.
The Pilgrimage
Recently, I watched the story of a Tibetan wandering nun.
She traveled through Tibet, through snow and mountains, visiting pilgrims, monasteries, monks and hermits.
She was searching.
Searching for meaning.
Searching for teachings.
Searching for masters.
Searching for a monastery.
Searching for the secret yoga of the light body.
Searching for wisdom.
She endured harsh conditions.
She met extraordinary people.
She listened.
She meditated.
She traveled farther.
And eventually, she encountered teachings that brought her back to the simplest and most difficult truth:
Know thyself.
The thing she had been searching for externally was already within her.
The energy.
The peace.
The freedom.
The wisdom.
The practice.
The answer.
The monastery, in a sense, was already there.
And I couldn't stop thinking about it.
I've Been on My Own Pilgrimage
Not the same pilgrimage.
I am not a Tibetan nun.
I am not living in a Himalayan cave.
😂
But I suddenly recognized something in her journey.
I've been searching too.
I've traveled.
I've moved countries.
I've built relationships.
I've built businesses.
I've created music.
I've gone to beautiful places.
I've experienced extraordinary things.
I've searched for meaning through work.
Through motherhood.
Through relationships.
Through spirituality.
Through creativity.
Through community.
Through travel.
Through wellness.
Through achievement.
And perhaps I've been doing something very human:
looking outward for something that could only ultimately be found inward.
Even Paradise Didn't Give Me What I Was Looking For
I've been to beautiful places.
Niagara.
The Philippines.
Mexico.
Punta Cana.
Disney.
European cruises.
Hollywood.
Beautiful hotels.
Beautiful destinations.
And I've learned something important:
A beautiful place doesn't automatically create an inner sense of peace.
You can be in paradise and still feel unsettled.
You can have everything around you and still feel something missing.
You can travel thousands of kilometers and bring the same mind with you.
And sometimes you return home realizing:
The destination wasn't the answer.
The Woman in Finland
Then I watched another woman living in the north of Finland.
She had come from metropolitan life.
And somehow she found solace in the snow.
In the harshness.
In the silence.
In nature.
In simplicity.
In living away from the noise.
She described a way of life that felt deeply familiar to me.
And I understood why.
I'm highly sensitive.
Crowded metropolitan environments can overwhelm me.
Noise can overwhelm me.
Too much stimulation can overwhelm me.
Sometimes what looks harsh to someone else feels peaceful to me.
Snow.
Trees.
Silence.
Space.
A simple home.
Nature.
A slower rhythm.
It isn't emptiness.
It is spaciousness.
And maybe that's why my country-girl life in Canada has begun to feel more and more like home.
Maybe I Wasn't Meant for the Metropolis
I used to wonder why I couldn't seem to thrive in the same environments other people loved.
Why crowds exhaust me.
Why traffic can overwhelm me.
Why I crave quiet.
Why I love nature.
Why I want my home to feel peaceful.
Why I enjoy slow mornings.
Why I want fewer things.
Why I don't always want to go somewhere.
Maybe there is nothing wrong with me.
Maybe I'm simply learning what environment allows me to flourish.
Some people need the city.
Some people need constant stimulation.
Some people need crowds.
Some people need nightlife.
And some of us need:
trees.
space.
quiet.
music.
nature.
a beautiful room.
a cup of something warm.
and nobody asking us to hurry.
There is no hierarchy in that.
It's simply knowing yourself.
The Sweetness of Doing Nothing
And now I am learning something my productivity-driven mind has struggled to understand:
Nothing is happening.
And that's okay.
I'm home.
I'm not rushing to download every song.
I'm not trying to maximize every day.
I'm not trying to visit every attraction.
I'm not trying to squeeze every drop out of a vacation.
I'm not trying to prove that I accomplished enough.
I'm simply here.
And somehow, this feels luxurious.
The sweetness of doing nothing is not actually about doing nothing forever.
It is about not needing to justify your existence through constant doing.
It is about being.
Maybe This Is My Monastery
I used to imagine the monastery somewhere else.
Somewhere in the mountains.
Somewhere in Tibet.
Somewhere remote.
Somewhere where the world becomes quiet enough for you to finally hear yourself.
But perhaps my monastery is not a physical place.
Perhaps it is the home I've created.
The quiet room.
The music.
The writing.
The bath.
The garden.
The candles.
The essential oils.
The creative work.
The moments with Vela.
The freedom to close the door.
The freedom to be quiet.
The freedom to create.
The freedom to do nothing.
Maybe the monastery is not where I go.
Maybe it is how I live.
And Perhaps I Didn't Abandon My Vocation
I didn't become a nun.
But perhaps I still became a woman of service.
I didn't enter a convent.
But I created spaces around wellness.
I didn't dedicate my life to one monastery.
But I have spent my life searching for ways to bring healing, beauty, creativity and meaning into the world.
I didn't stay inside a church.
But I kept music.
I kept service.
I kept community.
I kept spirituality.
I kept the desire to help.
The necklace disappeared.
But perhaps the calling didn't.
It simply became something else.
The Pilgrim Finally Comes Home
Maybe that's why this season feels different.
I am no longer desperate to find the next place.
The next person.
The next achievement.
The next project.
The next destination.
The next answer.
I am beginning to understand the ancient wisdom of:
Know thyself.
Know what gives you peace.
Know what drains you.
Know what makes you laugh.
Know what makes you create.
Know what environment allows you to breathe.
Know when to say yes.
Know when to say no.
Know when to move.
Know when to stay.
Know when to work.
Know when to rest.
Know when to speak.
Know when to be silent.
Know yourself.
And then...
live accordingly.
I Finally Found Her
Maybe the woman I was searching for wasn't somewhere in the world.
Maybe she was always inside me.
The girl from Bacolod.
The teenager who wanted to become a nun.
The girl who sang.
The young woman who dreamed.
The woman who arrived in Canada.
The mother.
The artist.
The entrepreneur.
The musician.
The community builder.
The woman who traveled.
The woman who searched.
The woman who struggled.
The woman who became tired.
The woman who became wiser.
The woman who wants quiet.
The woman who still wants magic.
The woman who loves beauty.
The woman who wants simplicity.
The woman who wants freedom.
All of them are still here.
And perhaps I don't need to choose one.
I can simply bring them all home.
The End of the Pilgrimage
Maybe this is the end of my pilgrimage.
Not because I have found every answer.
But because I no longer believe every answer is somewhere else.
I don't need to become a nun.
I don't need to climb a mountain.
I don't need to find a hidden monastery.
I don't need to travel across the world.
I don't need to become someone else.
I don't even need to keep moving.
Perhaps the greatest pilgrimage is the journey inward.
And perhaps the final destination is not a place at all.
It is recognition.
That quiet moment when you finally say:
Oh.
There you are.
And you realize you've been carrying the thing you were searching for all along.
Peace.
Freedom.
Meaning.
Creativity.
Wisdom.
Love.
Home.
Self.
I finally found my monastery.
And it was within me.
So today, I am going to do something very radical.
I'm going to stop.
I'm going to breathe.
I'm going to listen to my music.
I'm going to enjoy my home.
I'm going to let Vela be Vela.
I'm going to let Julie be Julie.
And I'm going to practice something I once thought was impossible:
The sweetness of doing nothing.
Because sometimes...
doing nothing is not the absence of life.
Sometimes it is the moment we finally realize...
we are already living.
— Julie
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