Sitting in a chair designed to fold adorned by winter sun with the warming glow keeping me company, I was beset with an unfamiliar realisation that I had nothing to do.

Absolutely nothing.

Nowhere to be. Nothing requiring my focus. No tasks to complete. No immediate responsibility for staff.

My family were content and healthy, and my mobile phone was out of reach.

There were caravans arranged in methodical fashion, creating shelter and privacy - not that it was needed.

Most would think it too cold by the beach in winter and decide to stay home. Lucky for us.

The dirty sandy earth traipsed from evening time until breakfast across all surfaces did not worry me.

My camping clothes and enormously wide moccasins, more like flippers and equally difficult to walk in, did not mind either.

The birds were singing pretty tunes and the waves were crashing nigh on hightide. Enormous dumpers, mesmerising white-water channelling the sand and delivering rocks and waterlogged wood including bits of tree and fence posts - more than I had seen before.

Perfect for building huts and shelters, but a significant interruption to daily strolls along the sand, and a definite deal breaker for chainsaws - unless new chains were in equal abundance.

The fire was long burned out, but soon to be rekindled.

The ground scorched from fires past with coals and charred rounds waiting patiently to resume their role.

The cardboard debris filled the firepit in anticipation.

For a few minutes I sat there in a chair adorned by winter sun on a stunning July day in Tasmania - it was bliss.

As a matter of fact, at that moment, the sun was so warm it had the potential to burn.

Sunscreen was somewhere in the car, a distant memory of summer.

Where did I put my sunglasses? In response I shut my eyes, too lazy and content to move.

I can understand people's desire to head the big smoke - the mainland during winter breaks, where the grass is greener and the weather warmer, to get away from it all.

Yet I am quite happy wearing a puffer as required and listening to the sea as it rock and rolls along the coast in Tasmania with hardly a soul apart from those who are in the know and choose to share the view.

Some people need more people and to meet even more people on holiday.

I remain the opposite, searching for a reclusive lifestyle, romantic and carefree, a ridiculous notion in part which is just as quickly broken by the need to reengage with normality to gain hard-earned to do it all again.

Anonymity or not to be asked my view on a topical matter is like sitting in a chair adorned by winter sun, although I do feel privileged that people still care what I think.

Nonetheless, that moment of bliss with the sun at my back and the silence of contentment was too much to take.

It did not last longer than a few minutes.

The comfortable became uncomfortable.

A moment devoid of responsibility had to be announced.

I told my mate that I had nothing to do. He responded that it was ok. In response I rose from a chair adorned by winter sun and did something - cannot remember what - just something.

Our lives have become so incredibly busy. We have developed the habit of being busy. Sitting still can be seen as laziness because there is always something to do.

Take a child here, take a child there, check social media, spray the weeds, finish the tax return, check social media, answer 100 emails, write a column, check social media.

As I penned this piece Mrs W posted to the socials, we were in different cities, but obviously connected all the same.

Her go to, professor and author, Dr Brené Brown offered from her Summer Sister Series on The Gifts of Imperfection: "It takes courage to say yes to rest and play in a culture where exhaustion is seen as a status symbol".

There will be another chair adorned by winter sun in years to come. Perhaps there will be other chairs.

Moments that provide an semblance of relaxation, the opportunity to destress, and dump worry.

Again, perhaps this is a romantic notion rather than reality.

However, the quest for the few minutes that help calm our lives should be our goal rather than an uncomfortable and unexpected reward.