There is a green bench at the end of my road that I have walked past hundreds of times. I always noticed it, then immediately decided I was too busy to sit down.
One afternoon I stopped because the clouds looked like they were about to make a decision. A woman nearby was reading a paperback, and a pigeon was conducting a very small argument with a crisp packet.
I stayed for twelve minutes. Nothing productive happened, unless noticing the sun move across the pavement counts.
Now the bench is part of my route. I do not go there to think through my life. I go there to let it continue without my supervision.