The Virtue of the Void

This winter, I've focused on the value of nothing.

My life is full of stuff: people, places, things, obligations, noises, motion, demands.

Perhaps this is why I crave negative space: emptiness, darkness, solitude, silence, stillness, free time, hunger.

Many of my efforts are aimed at creating nothing.

I clear out the detritus of daily life. Used dishes become clean.I trade clean clothes for dirty ones, new sheets of paper for painted ones. I empty sand-filled shoes. I keep some of the children's days free of obligations.

The space, the void, the clean slate all welcome creativity.

When my oldest daughter was little, I noticed that she and her friends played more with the dollhouse right after I'd tidied it. An orderly dollhouse invites children to create their own scenarios. When the dishes are scattered, the furniture on its side, and the dolls upside-down with their heads in the toilet, children avoid the dollhouse.

We have busy children. They surround themselves with their creations. Over time, their past creations cramp their space. The effort required to set their workspace to rights inhibits new creations. When we finally bite the bullet and tidy away the old creations, the children (and I!) are suddenly inspired to create something new.

Free time is another oft-unrecognized gift. I remember the marvelous unstructured summers of my own childhood. We had time to read, dream, swim, build forts, observe insects, stage carnivals, make daisy chains, watch the clouds, catch lizards and frogs, and build miniature mud villages.

My children recognize the value of empty time.

"What do you want to do today?" I ask sometimes, my wandering foot itching (or my administerial mind full of errands-that-need-running).

"Nothing," the children respond, on their way to do exactly that.

I'm learning the value of stillness and silence.

Sometimes, nothing is the right thing to say. (And do.)

I try to connect silently with each child every day. Sometimes, when a child is cross or frustrated, my silent presence is more helpful than any words or actions could be. My silence invites them to speak or simply to be exactly where they are with their current experience.

A few days ago, my younger daughter had worked herself into a state. Words were not getting through to her. She wanted something, but was unable to express her need. Finally, I stopped talking. She approached me again with a poke and a glare. I opened my arms and hugged her. I remained silent.

She started crying. The words poured out of her. Her feelings were locked inside until I created enough silence to welcome her words. Once I stopped talking, she was free to speak.

I find inaction useful. Holding back, not helping, not speaking, and waiting are disciplines that serve me well. Sometimes, I find it profoundly difficult to stand back and let the children work things out for themselves. Often, however, nothing is exactly what they need me to do.

We all know that children need socialization. What we might not realize is that they also need time to themselves. Solitude gives them a chance to daydream, to clear stress, to hear themselves think, to work through problems. I have one child for whom most behavior problems can be chalked up to "insufficient alone time."

Each aspect of negative space that I've explored also contains great creative potential. Consider the opportunities of the emptiness within hunger, thirst, abstinence, limitation, patience, denial, yearning, and confusion. Each negative space is a road not taken, a door not opened, a treat saved for tomorrow.

Wishing you all the gift of lots of nothing.