Winnie the Pooh, Emily Dickinson and the lesson of ‘not bothering’
September 16, 2024 at 9:00 a.m.
Among the most beloved quotes from A.A. Milne’s renowned Winnie the Pooh, is one of just two short words: “Oh, bother.”
It’s one of those quotes that brings the voice of the character to mind, and for me, evokes a smile and reminds me that, not only are there are better ways to respond to many times of frustration and difficulty, some things are not as serious as my response would lead me to believe they are.
Obviously, I’ve never had my head stuck in a honey pot, but there were plenty of times when I made a mountain out of something that later turned out to be a molehill; when offensive language made things worse while an “Oh, bother” mentality would have kept my emotional reaction in check.
During one of those “mountain” experiences, which for me as a writer, really was more of a mountain than a molehill, I learned the important lesson of “not bothering.” I encountered writer’s block, a time when the words wouldn’t come and it seemed inspiration had decided to take a vacation. The first time it happened I thought my days as a writer were over, and I was nowhere near finishing that first book most writers hope is in them.
Since then, it happens to me at least once a year, but I don’t fret about it as I used to because, like Winnie the Pooh, I learned an important lesson, in part, from Christopher Robin.
“How do you do nothing?” asked Pooh ... Christopher Robin replied, “It means just going along, listening to all the things you can hear, and not bothering.”
“Not bothering.” It’s such an important lesson, not just for writers but for anyone who has forgotten the value in times of doing nothing.
Back then, as a working mom of many, doing nothing was a concept I couldn’t embrace. So, I dealt with the frustration of writer’s block by cleaning the house, particularly sorting out piles of mail that had accumulated in my office. As I threw one thing after another into the garbage, I came across a greeting card I had purchased but never sent: A cat stretched luxuriously across the top of a roll-top desk full of “stuff,” basking in the sun which shone through the adjacent window. The verse read, “There’s no pleasure in having nothing to do. The fun is having lots to do and not doing it.”
I should have propped that card up on my desk so I could see it every day instead of hiding it in a drawer. It sounded like a wonderful experience. But being the often-stubborn woman I can be, I put aside the thought and went on cleaning, musing about the solution to my predicament.
I picked up a book of poetry by Emily Dickinson, leafed through it and stopped at a poem about a little brook. The first and last verses say it all: “Have you got a brook in your little heart . . . and your little draught of life is daily drunken there . . . Beware lest this little brook of life some burning noon go dry!”
I sat in my desk chair and sighed. It was clear I finally had to acknowledge that I needed to stop writing for a time and take a respite for the sole purpose of doing nothing – not a retreat, not a time of prayer or recollection, all of which have a purpose, but a time of no purpose other than to simply be and, in the “being,” be renewed and refreshed.
So, every year, as I did then, I embrace the teaching of Scripture: “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven,” and take a hiatus from writing, from cooking and cleaning, or just being available every time someone needs something (barring emergencies, of course).
During this time of simplicity and expectant waiting for the rain of renewal, I store up all the spiritual lessons life has to offer so I have plenty to write about when the brook is filled.
If I were to rate my accomplishments in life, learning to make some time for “not bothering,” is high on my list.
Mary Morrell is editor-in-chief of The Catholic Spirit, the Metuchen Diocesan newspaper.
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Among the most beloved quotes from A.A. Milne’s renowned Winnie the Pooh, is one of just two short words: “Oh, bother.”
It’s one of those quotes that brings the voice of the character to mind, and for me, evokes a smile and reminds me that, not only are there are better ways to respond to many times of frustration and difficulty, some things are not as serious as my response would lead me to believe they are.
Obviously, I’ve never had my head stuck in a honey pot, but there were plenty of times when I made a mountain out of something that later turned out to be a molehill; when offensive language made things worse while an “Oh, bother” mentality would have kept my emotional reaction in check.
During one of those “mountain” experiences, which for me as a writer, really was more of a mountain than a molehill, I learned the important lesson of “not bothering.” I encountered writer’s block, a time when the words wouldn’t come and it seemed inspiration had decided to take a vacation. The first time it happened I thought my days as a writer were over, and I was nowhere near finishing that first book most writers hope is in them.
Since then, it happens to me at least once a year, but I don’t fret about it as I used to because, like Winnie the Pooh, I learned an important lesson, in part, from Christopher Robin.
“How do you do nothing?” asked Pooh ... Christopher Robin replied, “It means just going along, listening to all the things you can hear, and not bothering.”
“Not bothering.” It’s such an important lesson, not just for writers but for anyone who has forgotten the value in times of doing nothing.
Back then, as a working mom of many, doing nothing was a concept I couldn’t embrace. So, I dealt with the frustration of writer’s block by cleaning the house, particularly sorting out piles of mail that had accumulated in my office. As I threw one thing after another into the garbage, I came across a greeting card I had purchased but never sent: A cat stretched luxuriously across the top of a roll-top desk full of “stuff,” basking in the sun which shone through the adjacent window. The verse read, “There’s no pleasure in having nothing to do. The fun is having lots to do and not doing it.”
I should have propped that card up on my desk so I could see it every day instead of hiding it in a drawer. It sounded like a wonderful experience. But being the often-stubborn woman I can be, I put aside the thought and went on cleaning, musing about the solution to my predicament.
I picked up a book of poetry by Emily Dickinson, leafed through it and stopped at a poem about a little brook. The first and last verses say it all: “Have you got a brook in your little heart . . . and your little draught of life is daily drunken there . . . Beware lest this little brook of life some burning noon go dry!”
I sat in my desk chair and sighed. It was clear I finally had to acknowledge that I needed to stop writing for a time and take a respite for the sole purpose of doing nothing – not a retreat, not a time of prayer or recollection, all of which have a purpose, but a time of no purpose other than to simply be and, in the “being,” be renewed and refreshed.
So, every year, as I did then, I embrace the teaching of Scripture: “To everything there is a season, a time for every purpose under heaven,” and take a hiatus from writing, from cooking and cleaning, or just being available every time someone needs something (barring emergencies, of course).
During this time of simplicity and expectant waiting for the rain of renewal, I store up all the spiritual lessons life has to offer so I have plenty to write about when the brook is filled.
If I were to rate my accomplishments in life, learning to make some time for “not bothering,” is high on my list.
Mary Morrell is editor-in-chief of The Catholic Spirit, the Metuchen Diocesan newspaper.