On the far end of the Dingle Peninsula of Ireland, out past the quaint little fishing village that is its namesake, are a series of stone bee-hive shaped dwellings in a circular formation, surrounded by a stone-wall and sitting on the side of a hillside overlooking Dingle Bay and further out over the Atlantic Ocean. Archeologists believe the structures were created as early as 2000BC, and were still in use until approximately 1200AD. The primitive structures are nothing more than piled rocks – no mortar or supports – just flat rocks in a round, piled slightly off-kilter so they come to a curved dome of sorts with just enough space at the top to allow some light into the space within. Crawling through the opening I found myself back in time – staring at a space that probably hadn’t changed much since the original proprietors decided to move on. No marble statues or painted portraits here – just a dirt floor, a small outcropping for a fire, and the uneasy feeling one gets when recognizing the roof above you is nothing but a pile of unsecured rocks held together by little more than gravity. Upon dipping your head out the entry and back into the light of day – you stare out at the silhouettes of the mountains on the far shore rising from the waters below – and your eyes touch the same sight those original residents must have encountered each day of their quiet, and I imagine, exhausting lives.

At one point there were 40,000 residents on the Dingle Peninsula, but when the soil could no longer provide, the famine arrived and the population either escaped or perished. Even today there are only about 10,000 folks who call this unique landscape home. Many of the original homes from that period remain. Abandoned, slowly fading monuments of a desperate time.

One can’t help but feel the passage of time everywhere in Ireland. The countryside is littered with old stone ruins, grave markings and endless stonewalls and hedgerows defining borders that have been passed down through the centuries. Newer buildings share the streets with 300 year-old pubs, and every town has some point of interest that sheds light on a forgotten era.

There is a voice inside that loves to feel that the current moment is the most important – and that your efforts and challenges are of immense consequence and importance. Look at the face of the average person on the street and they are most often in a stressful hurry – quite convinced of what they need or must accomplish – and doing their best to lay claim to whatever objects, property or individuals they feel belong to them. While far more relaxed than most, I too often find myself stressing about The Interactive Dept. – worrying about where the next project will come from – what the long-term course of our business will look like – how I can pay off the tax-man and sill manage to purchase a home some day. All the personal concerns of family and friendships, health and fitness, and even now, while riding a train to Dublin, where the next vacation might be.

Standing in that stone structure on the side of a rocky-outcrop on the Dingle Peninsula, you realize it really doesn’t matter at all. For thousands and thousands of years individuals like me in one way or another have walked this Earth, fretting their moment upon the stage, only to eventually pass on and fade from all memory like all those before them. Were the owners of these small rock dwellings good or bad? Winners or losers? Later on, some built massive castles with their wealth – others laid siege to those castles – and still others worked the land outside those castles for whomever temporarily pronounced themselves in charge. Good days, bad days – but all forgotten.

As my father and I travel on this trip, each day we try to remind ourselves we have nothing to do. We’ve intentionally planned no activities – just a few rough locations. Each morning we simply start walking and the day writes itself. Occasionally we find ourselves walking too fast, or rushing a delicious pint – and one of us will comment, “Hey, remember, we got nothing to do today.”

The sentiment, while simply a reminder of being on vacation at first has taken on larger meaning as the trip progresses. The constant reminders of just how long this game has been played, and just how short our glimpse of this amazing planet and experience is – provides solid proof that we as individuals on this planet have nothing to do ever. Everything is simply a choice – and success and failure merely an opinion of the moment.

In this modern workweek, history is easily forgotten as our time is often spent planning for the future, enthused for the next big thing, focused with the moment at hand. Multi-tasking has become the norm – and even vacations are often organized and coordinated with military precision. The thought of turning off your phone for a week seems like an impossibility. Detaching from technology and all the information it delivers brings fear that you’ll miss the boat – that opportunities will pass – that you will fail. A three-day weekend is acceptable now and again, but lets not get wild.

I whole-heartedly disagree, and recommend everyone begin to detach more. I would estimate I spend about 1-2 months a year doing little more than walking new cities or spending time with friends and family. If you can’t take three months (as I did in Spain), or two weeks as I’m doing now in Ireland, take one, or even a single day. Turn off the phone, shut-down the computer, ignore your “responsibilities” and enjoy the day without a plan of how you’ll control it. Not a Saturday – I’m talking about a Tuesday. Call out of work – lie and say you’re sick if you have to. Let the day take you. Walk out the front door and just start walking. Let the moment work its magic and accomplish nothing. Once you get a taste for it, as I have, you’ll find yourself wanting to accomplish nothing more and more. You’ll realize the world doesn’t fall apart in your absence, and after the ego comes to terms with this shocking truth, you’ll find yourself detaching more and more. You’ll realize doing nothing often feels even better than doing something – and that what at first might feel like a guilty pleasure is actually your mind saying “THANK YOU – I needed that.”

Many centuries from now, a father and son may come across your current dwelling. They might check-out your office – snap a few photos of your desk, ponder how you lived in such a way and what your days were like. They’ll be more curious about what art you made, what music you loved – then how stressful things were, or how you made the rent. Then, upon seeing a bus of senior citizens approaching, they’ll move on to the next monument, content that they have nothing to accomplish for the day.

Now I need to get back to doing nothing myself.

Filed under: Homelife, Personal Life, Travel by gspies
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