my brain doesn’t relax by doing nothing

I’ve learned that I travel best with a purpose.

People have sometimes criticized that as “not being able to relax,” or tried to pathologize it. But at this point, I mostly just accept it as how I’m wired. Maybe you’re like this too.

I have a very active mind that doesn’t like to sit still. It’s not (for me) about escapism or some dark motivation. It’s just the way my brain runs.

It’s also not that I haven’t tried to cultivate calm. I’ve done a couple Vipassana retreats and I’m about to do another. They helped with discipline and clarity—but they didn’t turn me into someone who loves lying on a beach for 10 hours doing nothing. If anything, they gave my already-active mind a stronger container to run in.

the german shepherd brain

The best way I’ve found to describe my mind is with a dog analogy.

I’ve had a German Shepherd for the past four or five years. She’s the sweetest, best dog I could ask for, and she’s taught me a lot about myself.

German Shepherds are not bred to sit still and do nothing. They’re intelligent, loyal, eager to please—and they need activity to be okay. Mental and physical. Non-negotiable.

If you try to “relax” a dog like that by making it do nothing all day, it doesn’t become calm. It becomes neurotic.

Same with something like an Australian Shepherd—another hyperactive, high-drive dog. Keep it cooped up inside and it’ll chew the furniture, spin in circles, go stir crazy. That doesn’t mean it’s a “bad dog” that should just learn to chill for 12 hours. It means its nature requires a different kind of care.

I’ve realized I’m basically the human version of that.

When I force myself into the “traditional relaxation” script—sit around, do nothing, float in a resort—I don’t become peaceful. I get more anxious and twitchy. My brain needs something to chew on.

Relaxation for me looks more like reading, writing, having a side project, moving my body, making something. Still gentler than work, still off the clock, but not empty.

traveling with a project

This really showed up on my recent trip to Vietnam.

I’d just come off a few weeks of really intense work—12–14 hour days. For Thanksgiving, I decided to take a vacation. The classic script is: beach, massages, sleep in, do nothing.

I can’t. My brain just doesn’t work that way.

What I actually wanted was a fun project that wasn’t about money or obligation. Something creative and nerdy that I could get obsessed with in a good way.

So I decided to build what is basically a life-collage project:

• capture footage from travels, jump rope sessions, random B-roll
• write these blog posts
• use Python scripts to slice and assemble it all into long-form videos that match each post
• overlay text, mix different types of clips—mundane daily life, repeatable routines, travel moments, whatever

The goal: fully automate a publishing flow where I feed in writing + raw clips, and a script generates these “collage of my life” videos.

Art project + engineering project combined.

My job becomes:

• keep writing
• keep filming little pieces of my life
• keep jumping rope and recording it

The system does the rest.

Yes, there’s a social element. It’s meant to be shared. I like the idea that people can engage with the writing in a different format, that the videos might be thought-provoking or inspiring or at least interesting.

I don’t want to create purely in a vacuum. I want the work to touch other people the way other people’s work has touched me.

But internally, it doesn’t feel like I’m begging to be seen. It feels more like: this is cool, I’m excited about it, I want to share.

And this kind of project is actually how I relax. It’s my version of lying by the pool. It tires me out in a good way. It channels my energy.

Like a German Shepherd that needs a job, I like having something to chase.

is this pathology or just preference?

If I wanted to be harsh with myself, I could absolutely pathologize this:

“You have to turn everything into a project. You can’t relax. This must come from childhood wounds. You were never seen, so you need an audience,” etc.

And to be fair, some of that might have been true earlier in my life. A lot of us start with behavior that’s rooted in some kind of wound: needing to be loved, needing to prove ourselves, confusing praise with love, overachieving to feel safe.

The interesting question is: can the same behavior shift from pathology to joy?

I think yes—but only if you do the inner work.

Therapy, self-reflection, meditation, spiritual practice—whatever your path is—can move you from:

“I have to do this or I’m not enough”

to:

“I get to do this because it’s fun and meaningful to me.”

A quick example: attachment styles.

Years ago I read the book Attached by Amir Levine and Rachel Heller. It lays out anxious, avoidant, anxious-avoidant, and secure attachment. At the time, I was definitely not secure.

More recently, I learned there’s a concept called earned secure attachment—where you start out with an insecure style but, through therapy, healthy relationships, or other work, you gradually become secure.

That idea resonates with me. I feel like I’ve gone through that transition.

And I think something similar can happen with our “productive” or “driven” tendencies. You can start from “I must prove myself” and, after enough work and healing, end up at “I do this because it genuinely brings me joy.”

Same actions on the outside. Very different roots.

stop over-pathologizing your way of relaxing

So when I look at this travel-with-a-project thing now, it doesn’t feel like compensation or desperation. It feels like my natural way to enjoy life.

I like waking up at 5 a.m. to catch the sunrise.
I like renting a scooter in Ninh Binh to get to Mua Cave before the crowds and climb the stairs in the early light.
I like having an excuse to capture footage for this weird long-form collage project.

For me, that is relaxing.

If you relate to any of this—and you’re someone who tends to over-reflect, over-diagnose, or assume everything you do is a symptom of some deep pathology—maybe you don’t need to be so hard on yourself.

Sometimes:

• you’re not “unable to relax”
• you just relax differently
• you have a German Shepherd brain, not a lapdog brain

Yes, do the inner work. Yes, be honest with yourself about where your behaviors come from. But also leave room for the possibility that some of the things you like are just… you. They’re your version of fun.

Not everybody relaxes the same way.

And a lot of this comes back to my favorite axiom:

Know thyself.

When you understand your actual nature, you’re more likely to build a life—and a way of resting—that fits it.