‘The brain is doing a lot of something when we appear to be doing nothing’

What have people been getting wrong about rest?

One of the big misunderstandings about rest is that it's passive – that it's something we do when we're not doing anything else, something in opposition to work rather than an integral part of it. And so naturally, this leads us to assume that our brains are somehow less busy, less active, when we're resting. Actually, the opposite is true. Our brains are more active during rest than when we're focused on a task, because rest activates the brain's default network: a circuit of neurons that enables us to daydream, think reflectively, and imagine the future. All the evidence now shows that activating the default network with rest is a fundamental component of how we think, learn, and create. In other words, the brain is doing a lot of something when we appear to be doing nothing, and this kind of mental downtime supports intelligence, creativity, memory consolidation, and problem-solving – all the things we tend to associate with focused, effortful thinking.

What have psychologists been getting wrong about rest?

I wouldn't say psychologists have been wrong about rest, but for a long time, rest just wasn't a central focus. Psychology as a field has historically been more concerned with action: behaviour, performance, motivation, cognition under pressure. Rest tended to be seen as the absence of those things – a kind of baseline or recovery period – rather than something psychologically interesting. What's changed in recent years is the input from neuroscience, particularly discoveries around the brain's default network. Psychologists have long understood the value of things like incubation in creativity, or the role of sleep in memory, but we're only now starting to piece together how important this resting network is across so many domains: learning, self-awareness, emotional processing, future planning. The challenge now is integrating that neuroscience into psychological models, and rethinking rest not as a passive state, but as a fundamental part of how the mind works.

Can you give me an example of how you think this book differs due to you being a neuroscientist rather than a psychologist?

I think one key difference is that, as a neuroscientist, I'm trained to think in terms of what the brain is doing physically – which specific circuits or regions are active, what kind of connectivity patterns emerge during rest, and how these change over time. So rather than seeing rest purely in psychological terms, like relaxation or disengagement, I'm looking at the neural activity that makes those states possible. For example, I spend time in the book exploring the anatomy of the brain's default network, including how it fans out across the medial prefrontal cortex, posterior cingulate cortex, and parts of the parietal lobe. There's also exciting research showing that even very short bouts of rest, like napping, can have a measurable impact on the brain. One study found that people who take daytime naps literally have bigger brains than those who power through the day (nappers' brains were 15 cubic centimetres larger – the volume of a small plum!). And incredibly, this can slow down ageing by up to six years. That kind of finding, which connects behaviour with changes in brain structure, captures what a neuroscience perspective can offer.

I love the chapter on mind-wandering. Talk to me about 'mindfulness on steroids'.

That's how Professor Russell Hurlburt describes Descriptive Experience Sampling (DES): a method he developed to capture people's inner experiences in real time. And I think it's such a vivid way of expressing the kind of intense, moment-by-moment awareness that DES tries to access. You're not just paying attention – you're examining the nature of your thoughts as they unfold, without filtering or judging them. What's fascinating is how this relates to the neuroscience of mind-wandering, which I explore in the book. When people let their minds roam free, the brain's default network switches on and suddenly we can think in completely new ways. Used thoughtfully, mind-wandering has been shown to support a surprising range of cognitive and emotional benefits. Studies suggest it can boost everything from creativity and abstract thinking to emotional intelligence, social understanding, and even our ability to anticipate and plan for the future. On a biological level, it strengthens neural connections, improves cerebral circulation, and may even help protect against conditions like depression and dementia. Not bad for a little daydreaming.

I hear your story of realising the importance of rest – 'I stopped going the extra mile just to look good when, in truth, no one really noticed or cared'. But as a full-time writer, do you feel you've truly cracked 'doing nothing'? 

It's a great question, and I'd say no, I haven't truly cracked doing nothing. I've got much better at avoiding burnout, which is already a big shift. I stopped pushing myself to exhaustion, and I now rest in the sense of sleeping well, spending time in nature, and taking proper breaks. But doing nothing – in the purest sense, where I allow myself to rest intentionally, without guilt or distraction – is still a work in progress. In our current system of untrammelled capitalism, it can be incredibly hard to make space for genuine rest, let alone purposeless time. As a full-time writer, I feel that pressure too; even a walk can sometimes feel like working on ideas. But I'm learning to protect small, aimless windows of time – moments when my brain's default network can recharge, rewire, and restore itself. Not necessarily because they're useful, although they are, but because they're human. And I think that's the deeper point of the book.

I don't disagree with you that my weekly game of five-a-side could be considered 'rest'. But once you reach this point, where within the framework of 'doing nothing' you're writing about everything from sex to forest bathing to Mariah Carey sleeping 15 hours a night to, well, writing itself, does the whole concept of 'rest' and 'doing nothing' lose all meaning, i.e. it just becomes 'doing what you want rather than something forced on you by The Man'?

The point isn't about inactivity in the strict sense; it's about shifting the mode your brain is operating in – from the executive network (work mode) to the default network (rest mode). The thread that runs through all the examples in the book is the activation of the brain's default network. Whether it's walking through a forest or taking a midday nap, what matters is that we're stepping back from relentless, cognitively demanding tasks – aka work – and giving the brain the space to do what it does best in that more open, generative state. I would also argue that the framing of 'doing what you want' as somehow not serious or legitimate is itself shaped by a system that overvalues short-term productivity and control. If it feels subversive to rest, that's a sign of the problem. 

When it comes to work, I've personally always thought that while there are clearly organisational demands on employees that need consideration, just as much of a problem is the 'cult of busy'. I'm fond of quoting Thoreau, 'It's not enough to be busy. Even the ants are busy. The question is, what are we busy about?' Did you encounter that in writing the book, i.e. people's reluctance to do nothing because being busy makes them feel important?

I did. One of the most striking things in writing the book was how people often equate their busyness with their value, often translating personal worth into how much we can accomplish. That's productivity guilt: the internalised belief that if you're not producing, you're somehow failing. And it runs deep. What's particularly insidious is how the culture of hustle has been rebranded as somehow aspirational, as if it's a healthy lifestyle choice. But over time, this mindset reshapes your sense of self: the brain starts to store feelings of guilt, hopelessness and incompetence. Overwork is a progressive condition – a slow deterioration of mental health – and once it sets in, it can take up to three years to recover.

Do you think 'Gen Z' might be particularly receptive to the ideas in your book? Perhaps more than most they have reason to dispute the mantra on your first page, i.e. 'Work is a crown'.  

I certainly hope so – 58 per cent of Gen Z are overworking (topped only by millennials at 59 per cent). It's a complete capsize of progress. And yet, this generation also seems more willing than any before to question the assumptions they've inherited, including the idea that work is the defining measure of a life well lived. The four-day workweek trial in Iceland, which I write about in the book, is a great example of what happens when those assumptions are challenged at a national level. Productivity either stayed the same or increased, and workers reported less stress, greater wellbeing, and more time for family, leisure, and rest. That's the power of the resting brain. Gen Z have grown up amid burnout, climate anxiety, and economic instability. They know the old systems aren't working, but they're also caught in the gig economy, which often pushes them further from intentional rest. Still, I think they're the ones who might finally say enough is enough. 

I'll tell you a couple of my favourite practical tips from the book if you tell me yours! For me, 'embracing solitude' and 'just say no' are probably the things I most recognise as having the potential to 'change life through doing nothing'. Maybe I particularly like them because they do push back against general societal expectations. What about you? What would you advise? 

I'm not sure I have a single favourite, to be honest, partly because I get something different, cognitively and emotionally, from each kind of rest I write about. One I keep returning to is walking through a park or a forest when I know I should be working. There's something powerful in reclaiming that time, not only because it activates the brain's default network and provides a host of neurological benefits, but because it disrupts the idea that every minute must be accounted for. I also swear by the 30-minute nap, which I love because I know it's literally beefing up my brain. And then there's taking long baths, which is one of the few places I can mind-wander without distractions, or that creeping pressure to prioritise short-term productivity at the expense of healthier, more sustainable long-term productivity. What I love about all of these is that they're small, accessible, open to anyone, and the effects on the brain are genuinely transformative. 

• Dr Joseph Jebelli received a PhD in neuroscience from University College London, then worked as a postdoctoral research fellow at the University of Washington. He has written two books, How the Mind Changed and In Pursuit of Memory, which was shortlisted for the Royal Society Trivedi Science Book Prize and longlisted for the Wellcome Book Prize. He lives in London.
• The Brain at Rest: Why Doing Nothing Can Change Your Life is published by Torva.