today is friday here in espírito santo, and the rain falls like a soft melody that cradles my thoughts. living in a cozy apartment, far from the hustle and bustle, i find myself alone—a contrast amid the hectic routine of working with servers and databases. in a universe where every byte and every script seem to demand attention, today i allowed myself a break, a moment of pure relaxation.
early in the morning, after a strong and unhurried coffee, i realized that the day was unfolding gently and promisingly. with no urgent notifications and no critical digital infrastructure demands, the surrounding environment remained quiet and orderly. the apartment was immaculate, and, curiously, the absence of exercise—which i normally avoided—allowed me to imagine a day without the pressure to do something “productive.” it was an irresistible invitation to dive into calmness.
before opening my laptop, i sat in silence, letting my thoughts reveal themselves one by one. in that moment, my mind began to whisper: “maybe it’s time to review that old server log? or perhaps check if that backup script can be optimized?” these murmurs resembled an unsteady conversation, a sort of alert that insists on transforming every pause into a whirlwind of ideas and actions.
then i recalled a simple yet transformative technique to deal with this incessant flow of thoughts. imagine each thought with a unique shape, almost as if it were alive. give them names—they could be john, anna, or even a casual nickname that reflects their personality. in my case, these virtual “friends” appear with suggestions about adjustments and improvements: “adjust the server configuration,” “check that database query,” or “remember to update the security software.”
but, while picturing this scene, i realized that i am not a hostage to these reminders. i am the host of this silent meeting, the one who decides which piece of advice deserves a response and which can be left aside. just as one can listen to an old friend without necessarily following all of their recommendations, i have learned to give room only to what truly matters. today, i choose to listen to these voices with serenity and respond with a simple, yet firm, “thank you, but it’s fine as it is.”
the feeling of freedom is almost palpable. instead of turning every minute of rest into a frantic search for new challenges, i choose to enjoy the simple fact of being present, savoring this break without obligations. because, in the end, life often traps us in the idea that every moment must be invested in something grand or revolutionary. yet, there is an undeniable beauty in the simplicity of doing nothing—a space where creativity and peace meet without haste.
on this rainy and peaceful day, i allow myself to linger, contemplating the rain, the distant sound of water hitting the windows, and the calm that envelops the surroundings. each raindrop reminds me that nature, too, knows the art of resting, of renewing itself without the need for excess. it is in this natural rhythm that i find inspiration to rethink my own priorities, to recognize that sometimes the true value lies in the pause.
between one thought and another, a new perspective reveals itself: the paradox between digital productivity and the necessary rest of body and mind. i work with the precision of servers, but i have also learned that the human system needs breaks—moments to defragment and reorganize memory, even if it means simply appreciating the silence.
in the end, i decide to click the “publish” button—not to launch a new project, but to record this moment of serenity. i close my laptop and allow myself, for a few precious hours, to be at peace with myself. without the rush to resolve pending issues or adjust configurations, i embrace this moment of pure existence, where calm becomes the greatest gift.
thank you, my restless thoughts. today, i learned that tranquility is found not in the constant search for solutions, but in the wisdom of letting time follow its course. by recognizing that i can be the manager of my own thoughts, i enjoy the simple pleasure of doing nothing—and, through that, i discover a new kind of productivity: the productivity of being.
