Book Review: How to Do Nothing by Jenny Odell

Jenny Odell’s How to Do Nothing is not a guide to idleness but a thought-provoking exploration of how we can reclaim our attention and agency in a world that constantly demands our productivity. For educators, this book offers an essential critique of the attention economy and its impact on students, teachers, and leaders alike. It encourages a rethinking of what it means to be engaged, present, and truly productive.

You’d be interested in this book if:

1. You’re an educator concerned with the attention economy. In an era where focus is a commodity, Odell examines how digital distractions and systemic pressures shape students’ ability to learn, explore, and imagine. If you’ve read Stolen Focus, this book serves as a powerful companion. She underscores how precarious labor conditions have eroded the ability to say no, forcing individuals into an ‘always-on’ state. She writes, “Any argument about mindfulness or attention must address this reality [of job insecurity].” (p. 86). Educators must consider how these external pressures shape students’ lives, where the pressure to succeed leaves little room for the kind of deep thinking and creative wandering that true learning requires.
2. You’re a leader invested in balancing productivity and wellbeing. Odell challenges us to ask: “Productivity that produces what?” (p. 86). This is a particularly pressing question for schools, where students and educators alike are caught in cycles of assessment, deadlines, and achievement benchmarks. Drawing from Malcolm Harris’ Kids These Days, she critiques the ruthless professionalization of childhood, noting how students are trained to optimize every moment of their day: “A misstep—whether it is getting a B or getting arrested for attending a protest—might have untenable lifelong consequences.” (p. 87). This mirrors the reality of many students today, who are pushed into competitive environments where slowing down is not an option. Odell’s insights should prompt educators to ask: Are we truly preparing students for a fulfilling life, or merely priming them to be hyper-efficient workers in an extractive economy?
3. You’re intrigued by bioregionalism and our connection to place. There’s a growing trend of people turning to bird-watching, gardening, or simply spending more time outdoors, and Odell explores why this shift matters. She describes how her repeated visits to a rose garden allowed her to recognize different species of flowers and birds, illustrating the profound impact of paying attention to the living world around us. This is not just a sentimental act—it’s a form of resistance against the attention economy, which prioritizes engagement with digital spaces over physical ones. She writes, “When I worry about the [climate] diversity, I am also worrying about my own diversity—about having the best, most alive parts of myself paved over by a ruthless logic of use [and productivity]. When I worry about the birds, I am also worrying about watching all my possible selves go extinct.” (p. 183). For educators, this is a reminder that meaningful learning does not just happen in classrooms or online—it happens in engagement with the land, with history, and with our own senses of place and identity.
4. You engage with social media and want to rethink its role in your life. Odell critiques how social media platforms manipulate our desires and decision-making, often in ways we barely notice. Technology ethicist James Williams warns, “Distractions can keep us from doing the things we want to do. In the longer term, however, they can accumulate and keep us from living the lives we want to live, or even worse, undermine our capacities for reflection and self-regulation, making it harder to want what we want to want.” (p. 115). This is particularly relevant for educators grappling with smartphone use in schools. While outright bans might curb distraction, Odell’s work suggests we need deeper conversations about digital literacy, agency, and how students can critically engage with technology rather than simply avoiding it.

Odell does not advocate for simply ‘doing nothing,’ nor for unplugging entirely. Instead, she urges readers to disengage from the attention economy’s demands and embrace deeper, more intentional forms of engagement. She draws on Indigenous knowledge, particularly Robin Wall Kimmerer’s work, to illustrate how connecting with land and place fosters resilience and self-understanding. She argues, “Doing nothing means disengaging from one framework (the attention economy) not only to give myself time to think, but to engage with another framework.” (p. 179). This shift in perspective is invaluable for educators, who are not only guiding students through academic challenges but also helping them navigate the complexities of attention, distraction, and meaningful engagement in their lives.

Ultimately, How to Do Nothing is a compelling and necessary read for educators, leaders, and anyone questioning the modern definitions of productivity. It challenges us to reconsider how we spend our time, what we value, and how we might create learning environments that prioritize curiosity, presence, and genuine engagement over efficiency and optimization. In doing so, Odell offers not just critique but an alternative way of being—one that is more sustainable, more human, and ultimately, more free.