The Loitering God Manifesto

On wasting time with dignity, and why it might be the holiest thing you can do

Somewhere out there – in the alley behind your favorite coffee shop, perched on a bench at the edge of the park, or leaning casually against the convenience store wall – lives a god you won’t find in any official pantheon. 

This god doesn’t ask for tithes, penance, or a 10-point productivity plan. He doesn't have a spreadsheet for your soul. His temple is a bus stop with a schedule that never quite lines up. His hymn is the click of a half-melted ice cube in a paper cup. His holy text is oddly elegant graffiti scrawled on the bathroom wall.

I call him the Loitering God. 

And honestly? I think we need him now more than ever.

Who (or What) Is the Loitering God?

The Loitering God is the patron saint of “hanging around.” Of lingering where you don’t technically “need” to be. Of moments that don’t look like much on the calendar but end up meaning so much more than the so-called big-ticket events.

This god is not here for hustle. Don't expect him to make an appearance to bless your 10,000 steps, your inbox zero, or your color-coded planner. Instead, he blesses the cigarette break, the side-street wander, and the leaning-too-long on a railing while your mind drifts far away somewhere, deliciously off-track.

Where other gods might demand sacrifice, the Loitering God simply asks you to waste some time with dignity.

The Holy Articles of Loitering

The Loitering God isn't big on rules and rigid ways of doing things. But if he were inclined to give you a few directives to follow, I imagine they'd read a little like this.

1. Thou shalt waste time without shame

Sit on the curb. Watch ants. Reorganize the fridge magnets into an epic poem. Follow all those weird little urges you get to do something just to satisfy your curiosity. In the Loitering God's world, none of this is a waste.

2. The bench is an altar

Every time you sit without rushing, you consecrate the act of existing in the space you're in. Plastic bench at a bus stop? Sacred. The grass outside the laundromat? Holy ground. 

3. To dawdle is divine

The universe doesn’t need you to move through it at full tilt all the time. Sometimes the most miraculous thing you can do is stall, wander, pause, and see what appears in the gaps.

4. Every pause is a portal

The Loitering God loves a threshold. In the stillness between errands, in the space before you hit “send,” entire universes open up if you’re willing to stop and notice.

5. The loiterer shall inherit the earth

Not the hustlers, not the spreadsheet jockeys, not the early adopters. The ones leaning on the wall, sipping a lukewarm soda, half in the moment and half in the dream.

The Blessings of Loitering

Now here’s the thing. This isn’t just me knee-deep in my cheeky myth-making era, although yes, cheeky myth-making is fun. There are real gifts to be found tucked inside this practice.

Loitering as creative composting

Ideas need downtime and space to breathe. You can’t wring inspiration out of yourself like a sponge simply because you want to. 

Some of the best connections happen when your brain is “idle” – shower thoughts, waiting-room epiphanies, sudden sparks when you’re staring at clouds. Loitering is where ideas rot and ferment until they sprout into something very much alive.

Loitering as resistance

In a world that worships hustle and efficiency, pausing is quietly radical. Every time you lean back instead of producing, you’re saying, "My worth isn’t tied to output." It's non-violent rebellion with a latte in hand.

Loitering as connection

Most of life’s best moments happen in the margins – not during the meeting, but in the parking lot afterward. Not at the big party, but on the porch with one really good friend. Loitering ensures there's room left over for accidents, serendipity, and the kind of connection you just can’t script.

Loitering as spiritual practice

We call it “wasting time,” but who decided what’s waste and what’s worthy in the first place? Lighting incense in your garden while staring at the sky may not serve the hustle gods very well, but it’s sacred regardless. Sitting on the couch after a long day, letting your thoughts scatter – also pretty damn sacred. 

The Loitering God teaches that time isn’t wasted when you’re quietly, beautifully alive in it.

Closing Benediction

So yes, I still believe in showing up, in doing the work, and in making the things. I appreciate active progress, and I always will. But I also believe in dawdling. In wandering. In standing around as if I've got nowhere pressing to be, even when maybe I do.

Because sometimes the most important part of living isn’t the scheduled stuff. It’s the part that happens when you’re leaning against the wall, waiting for something that may never come. When you suddenly notice the sky looks like spilled ink (in mauve, no less), or the breeze smells like apples, or you finally hear what your brain’s been trying to tell you all week.

The Loitering God smiles on all of those moments, and maybe that’s all the blessing we need. (And since no manifesto is really a manifesto until there's a t-shirt involved, here – I have one of those, too.) Now go forth and loiter, without apology.