BOOKS
An Essay About Nothing
My thoughts on the Rental Person Who Does Nothing by Shoji Morimoto
What if you could make a living by doing nothing?
What if being there is already enough?
What if dreams weren’t about the future?
As I flipped through the pages of this book, these questions popped into my hazy and tea-induced mind. Bit by bit, possibilities unfolded before my eyes. Then I was reminded that the stories told in this book weren’t some far-away possibilities.
The concept of a person hired to do almost nothing was already a reality. Perhaps, it will continue to be one. And my overly-convoluted-always-gonna-do-something-mentality can’t fully comprehend that.
@morimotoshoji
“I’m starting a service called Do-nothing Rental. It’s available for any situation in which all you want is a person to be there. Maybe there’s a restaurant you want to go to, but you feel awkward going on your own. Maybe a game you want to play, but you’re one person short. Or perhaps you’d like someone to keep a space in the park for your cherry blossom viewing party . . . I only charge transport (from Kokubunji Station) and cost of food/drink (if applicable). I can’t do anything except give very simple responses.”
In a society that pushes everyone to be someone and do something, is there even a tiny nook left to be nothing?
The act of doing nothing.
“I told myself to be a grown-up and stick to something, but the stress always got too much. I’d try to alleviate it somehow, but that never really worked. I was in a repetitive cycle of trying to do something and ending up doing nothing. Eventually, I began to realize that doing nothing was what suited me best.”
The portrayal of utter insignificance, despair, and questioning struck a chord inside me. Maybe, it’s because for years I always tried to be someone. Like most of us, I always tried to reach for that enigmatic and coveted something.
Validation, money, status, achievements. You name it.
For a long time, I always felt like chasing for a place other than here — trying to find meaning between morning and night, wallowing in this quicksand called time, begging for an answer in an indifferent universe.
Ironically, years of agony and existential crisis brought me to a fifteen-minute morning routine. I learned that meditation — sitting still to listen to my breath brought me peace.
In the end, I found myself doing nothing.
But then, among the inspiring stories of becoming and triumph, the concept of doing nothing felt anticlimactic and worse, defeatist.
Coming from a middle-class family in a third-world country; hard work and sacrifice were the fulcrum of my world. It’s the same narrative. Do well in school. Get a job. Family first. Keep going, keep fighting.
The idea of doing nothing felt absurd and lowly. If I were to tell my mother that I dream of doing nothing, she would probably spiral into endless rants about the thousands of sacrifices needed for me to exist.
And stuffed in those lengthy rants, I can imagine being called lazy, ungrateful, and worse, a social cancer.
The dream of doing nothing
“My dream of doing nothing is already a reality, so in fact, it is a dream of keeping things as they are. Why shouldn’t a dream focus on the here and now? Why is there an assumption that it must be about the future.”
Unlike the author, who probably mastered the subtle art of doing nothing, the best I could master is a 15-minute silence every morning. And even then, I tend to fail spectacularly.
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I think it’s because a piece of me remains tethered to the possibility of achieving something. As much as I tried to be grounded and grateful in the present, my dream is there in the future. At least, that’s how I felt about it.
Who knows?
That dream might as well be a mirage in the desert.
Nevertheless, Morimoto’s perspective shows how radical and empowering it is to dream of doing nothing.
I can’t help but be in awe.
In a world fueled by the constant rat race and empty 9 to 5 jobs often packaged as purpose and ambitions, someone decided to not play the game. Someone did things on his own terms. How many of us could muster that courage?
But, also how many of us have that privilege?
Inside the hustle and bustle of sleepless cities, doing nothing seems like an impossibility. And so, the rental person has a certain kind of freedom that most of us don’t have — the one that extends beyond having endless options in grocery shops and Netflix after long work days.
The act of being there.
“Things can be different simply because someone is there. They don’t have to be there, but if they are something changes.”
If a stranger’s presence is enough, I wonder if my sole and raw existence will be enough for my family.
Because I can’t imagine a situation where my mere presence is enough for them. I always felt the need to do something or be someone other than simply exist by their side.
- Choose my words carefully or agree with them.
- Validate their feelings.
- Do things for them.
- Follow them.
I feel like a decade-long pretentious hag while listing all that stuff and maybe I am. For years, I learned that it’s not my presence. It’s this list of expectations tethered to it that is enough for them.
These expectations suffocate and drain me, I feel lost and disoriented. Sometimes, I don’t know myself anymore.
Perhaps, to act as a reprieve from all these social expectations and relationship rules is one of the purposes of Rental Person.
There’s no denying it. At times, permanent relationships are tricky and messy. Worst of all, they can often feel chaining. It’s like a machine that needs constant maintenance.
On the other hand, relationships with strangers are easy, detached, and temporary. There is little to nothing to expect and to hope for. And so we learn to live the moment with them, cherish it for what it was, and be done with it.
All in all, I can’t help but think: Perhaps, we live our truest selves around strangers.
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This article was published on August 14th, 2024 in Long. Sweet. Valuable. publication.
