Have You Tried Turning It Off and Back On?

When I’m “supposed to” do something but I don’t wanna, I do absolutely nothing instead.

Not rest.

Not recovery.

Not even a deliciously rebellious alternative.

Just… nothing.

I sit there like a browser tab that’s been open too long, quietly consuming resources while refusing to load.

This pattern used to annoy me.

I thought it meant I was lazy or unmotivated or secretly broken.

Turns out it mostly means I skipped some very basic human maintenance and then tried to negotiate with my brain like it was a machine instead of an animal.

So now I have a sequence.

Not a productivity system. Not a morning routine carved into marble.

Just a small ritual I reach for when I feel that internal “nope” harden into concrete.

First question, always: have I eaten?
Second question: when did I last drink water?
Third question: when did I last stand up?

It’s ridiculous how often the answer to all three is “uhhhh.”

No wonder everything feels impossible. I’m asking a dehydrated, under-fueled nervous system that’s been folded into a chair for hours to perform miracles.

So I fix those first.

Food. Water. Getting UP.

No heroics.

Then I set a timer for ten minutes. Ten, not twenty, not thirty. Ten is short enough that my resistance doesn’t start sharpening knives.

When the timer starts, I ask a very specific question: why don’t I wanna?

Not in an accusatory way.

More like I’m interviewing a witness who is clearly upset and might clam up if I push too hard. I stand up or walk around while I ask it, because something about movement loosens the answers.

I give myself permission to be curious.

Which part of me is opposed to this “supposed to” task? Is it tired? Bored? Afraid it’ll spiral into something bigger? Annoyed that this wasn’t its idea?

Sometimes I discover that the resistance wants a compromise.

Sometimes it wants reassurance.

Sometimes it wants the task renamed because the current label feels like a threat.

Occasionally it just wants to complain for a minute, and honestly, fair.

After that, I put on headphones and play LoFi. No lyrics. No emotional manipulation.

Just a soft auditory blanket that tells my brain it doesn’t need to stay hyper-vigilant.

And then comes the most important part.

Instead of gaming.
Instead of scrolling.
Instead of doing nothing and calling it a choice.

I find the tiniest possible first step and I do it.

Not the whole task. Not even a meaningful chunk. Just the smallest action that still counts. Open the file. Write one sentence. Put one item away. Name the variables. Start the download.

The kind of step so small it almost feels insulting, which is exactly why it works.

Most of the time, once that step exists in the world, momentum sneaks in through a side door.

And if it doesn’t, that’s still okay.

I did something instead of nothing, and that’s a different nervous system state entirely.

I’m learning that when I don’t wanna, it’s rarely a moral failure.

It’s usually a signal.

And signals don’t need discipline.

They need attention, a little care, and a path forward that doesn’t require pretending I’m not human.

Ten minutes. Food. Water. Standing up. Curiosity. LoFi. One tiny step.

That’s usually enough to turn “I’m supposed to” into “okay, maybe.”