Ever feel like one of the lawn chairs on Lake Lag? Out of place, without purpose, exposed? Not without the big kind of Life Purpose, but without the purpose that Stanford students find in having a task. Those lawn chairs crack me up. I like to think someone put them there more out of an artistic impulse than a utilitarian one, mostly because I never see them being used as recliners. There they are, unused and sun-bleached, scattered around the bottom of an empty lake. They invoke the same kind of humor an installation exhibit at the MoMa might. Only they do so accidentally, not intentionally.

I look around Stanford and see an altar to productivity, self-betterment, business. And by business I mean busy-ness. Returning to campus after being away for a while, the sense that everyone is moving along at a trot towards superhuman success is amplified, and frightening. It’s an exceptional moment when I see a student walking around aimlessly, sans iPhone, laptop, running shoes or crowd of pals. It’s rare that I venture out alone without donning the Stanford armor of productivity. When I do pause to eat a sandwich by myself at Tresidder, or choose to go adventure-walking, not jogging, I feel pretty sketchy. Like I’m breaking the rules. I feel like one of those lawn chairs: out in the open, so publicly unemployed I might as well be on display. Free time gives me the spooks.

Stanford political science professor Rob Reich showed me a hauntingly prescient article by David Brooks called “The Organization Kid” that investigates a similar productivity fever at Princeton. The article, published in 2001, gives some explanation for my squirminess with free time. Maybe I’m the only one whose skin crawls if I’m not actively improving my intelligence or level of fitness, but I’m resolving to learn how to do nothing and be comfortable with unscheduled time. Join me?

Amused, confused, outraged? Share your thoughts with Renée at [email protected].