There are few sentences that make me happier these days than, “I have absolutely nothing to do today.”

No plans, no appointments, nobody waiting for me somewhere, no lunch I agreed to three weeks ago when it sounded like a lovely idea and am now wondering why Past Raulito was so generous with Present Raulito’s time. Nothing I need to get dressed for, nowhere I need to be, and ideally nobody asking me what I’m doing later because the answer is absolutely nothing and I’d quite like to keep it that way.

When exactly did that become so exciting?

Because I don’t remember always being like this. There was definitely a time when an empty weekend felt like something had gone slightly wrong. You’d hear about everybody else’s plans and think you should probably be doing something too. Dinner, drinks, a party, a day out, anything really. Sitting at home while everyone else appeared to be out living their lives felt vaguely depressing. Now I can look at an entirely empty day on my calendar and think, Oh, this is going to be lovely.

Don’t get me wrong, I still love going out. I love seeing my friends, trying restaurants, wandering around Madrid, travelling, making plans and having things to look forward to. I don’t want to become that person who hasn’t left the house in four days and has started considering the delivery driver a close personal friend. But there’s something about having an entire day where nobody expects you anywhere that feels increasingly luxurious.

I think part of it is that plans have this strange ability to take over far more of the day than they actually occupy. If I have to be somewhere at 2pm, for example, technically I have the entire morning free. That’s HOURS. A normal person could probably have breakfast, go for a walk, read something, sort out a few things at home and still have plenty of time to get ready.

My brain does not work like that.

I wake up and think, Right, I have to be somewhere at 2.

That’s it. The morning now belongs to the 2pm plan.

I’ll have breakfast, look at the time, calculate when I need to start getting ready, do something completely unrelated for twenty minutes, check the time again, wonder whether I should shower now or later, decide it’s too early, sit down, check the time AGAIN and eventually realise I’ve spent most of my free morning preparing mentally for an event that hasn’t happened yet.

Please tell me other people do this.

But when I wake up with absolutely nothing planned, the day suddenly feels enormous. There are all these hours ahead of me and they belong entirely to me. Nobody cares when I shower. Nobody cares what I’m wearing. Nobody is going to text me asking, “Where are you?” while I’m standing in front of my wardrobe wearing one sock and wondering why I didn’t start getting ready earlier.

Naturally, this enormous amount of freedom also makes me wildly overestimate what I’m going to accomplish.

I’ll wake up thinking, Today is the day.

I’m going to organise that cupboard. I’m going to read. I’m going to reply to messages. I’m going to sort out something I’ve been postponing for weeks. Maybe I’ll go for a long walk. Maybe I’ll cook something. Maybe I’ll even become one of those mysterious people who wakes up early on a weekend, makes coffee and has already accomplished seventeen things before 10am.

And then somehow it’s 2pm.

I’ve had coffee.

I’ve eaten something.

I’ve spent an amount of time on my phone that I would prefer not to disclose publicly.

And that’s about it.

The funny thing is, I’m increasingly okay with that.

I used to have this strange feeling that free time had to be used. If I had a whole day to myself, surely I should do something productive with it. Clean something. Organise something. Read something educational. Exercise. Catch up on emails. Improve myself in some measurable way so that by the end of the day I could look back and feel that the time hadn’t been wasted.

Apparently even relaxing needed KPIs.

I don’t know when that changed, but these days I’m much more comfortable with the possibility that perhaps nothing needs to come out of a free day. Maybe I have breakfast slowly. Maybe I spend far too long watching something completely pointless. Maybe I read. Maybe I order food instead of cooking because I cannot be bothered. Maybe I move from the sofa to the bed at some point and consider that sufficient activity.

I might decide at 5pm that I suddenly want a coffee somewhere and go out. I might wander around Madrid without really having anywhere to go. I might get into a taxi and go somewhere because something has randomly occurred to me. Or I might look outside, reconsider the entire idea and stay exactly where I am.

And I think that’s the part I really love. It’s not necessarily about doing nothing. It’s about being able to decide what happens to my own time as I go along.

There’s a difference between finding yourself alone and actively choosing to spend time alone because you genuinely enjoy your own company. I think I’ve become much better at the second one as I’ve got older. Some of my favourite little moments are things I do completely by myself. Sitting somewhere with a coffee, browsing a bookshop for far too long, walking around a neighbourhood, eating exactly what I feel like eating without having to consult a committee first.

Actually, eating alone deserves more appreciation purely for the efficiency of the decision-making process.

“What do I feel like eating?”

Thai.

Done.

Compare this with eating with other people.

“What do you want?”

“I don’t mind. What do you want?”

“Anything.”

“Okay, how about Thai?”

“Hmm… I had Thai yesterday.”

Wonderful. Why did you say anything?

And perhaps becoming too comfortable with your own company comes with one slightly dangerous side effect: cancelled plans can occasionally feel… fantastic.

I know I’m not supposed to admit that.

Someone messages saying, “I’m so sorry, can we do another day?” and obviously you respond appropriately because you’re a decent human being. “Of course! Don’t worry at all.”

Meanwhile, something completely different is happening internally.

Wait.

So I don’t have to go anywhere?

You were genuinely looking forward to seeing this person. You like them. You willingly made these plans. Nobody forced you into them. And yet the second they’re cancelled, the evening somehow transforms into an unexpected present.

Surely this isn’t just me.

There have to be thousands of us receiving cancellation messages, pretending to be mildly disappointed while already mentally changing into comfortable clothes.

I think maybe life just gets noisier as you get older. There are always things that need doing, messages that need answering, people you want to see, people you probably should see, places you need to go, appointments you need to remember and random little responsibilities constantly floating around in the background. Even on a quiet day, there’s usually some invisible list sitting somewhere in your brain reminding you of all the things you could be doing.

Which is probably why having absolutely nothing to do feels so good.

Not being productive. Not making the most of the day. Not turning every spare hour into an opportunity to become a healthier, smarter, more organised and generally superior version of yourself.

Just having a day.

And sometimes, by the evening, I’ll look back and realise I really didn’t do very much at all.

I didn’t organise the cupboard. I didn’t get through my imaginary to-do list. I didn’t have the incredibly productive morning I briefly envisioned for myself. Perhaps I didn’t even leave the house.

And instead of feeling guilty about it, I increasingly find myself thinking…

That was lovely.

Now hopefully nobody has made plans with me tomorrow.

— Raulito