“Hi, I’m Matt and I’m a workaholic.”
A monotonous, off-beat chorus of “Hi Matt” echoes.
“…I have also never seen one full episode of The Office.”
Someone shouts, “What the f*ck?!” Chaos erupts as foldable chairs and paper cups are hurled my way.
My mom has a funny story of me interviewing for kindergarten (I know — pure insanity). A teacher asked me, “Do you know the difference between yes and no?” I shook my head in confusion.
I’m a born-and-raised workaholic. From interviewing for kindergarten, striving for stellar grades, auditioning for high school, university, and job applications, my entire life has been an endless rat race of goals. Over the years, I’ve grown to love all things productivity. The iterative process of finding efficient ways to achieve my ambitions is equal parts addicting and gratifying.
There was little time for leisure though. Whether fueled by strict parents or seeing every other LinkedIn user being “extremely excited to start” some fancy new position, there was no time to celebrate small milestones — it was on to the next one. I had to get the good grades, so I could get into the good schools, so I could have a distant shot at a good future. I couldn’t let an addicting, critically-acclaimed show like The Office get in the way of the next item on the to-do list.
Now, with ample time unchained from the tormenting depths of h̶e̶l̶l̶ studying, it still feels like I’m “chasing,” unable to turn off this “go-go-go” mentality. There’s a residual tiredness no amount of coffee nor sleep can fix in a short period of time. It’s exhausting — I’m tired of being tired.
In search of an escape from the perpetual fatigue, I continue my Rom Com marathon. Next on the checklist, Eat, Pray, Love. (Hey! I saw you roll your eyes. Take that back. Anything with Julia Roberts is magical.) Elizabeth Gilbert, the main character, confesses her vices:
“I feel so guilty. I’ve been in Rome for 3 weeks… and all I’ve done is learn a few Italian words and eat.”
Luca, a proud Italian, begins berating her:
“You feel guilty because you are American. You don’t know how to enjoy yourself! … Listen to me, you want to know your problem? Americans. You work too hard. Get burnt out! … You don’t know pleasure. You’ve got to be told you’ve earned it.
… An Italian doesn’t need to be told. He walks by a sign that says, ‘You deserve a break today!’, and he says, ‘Yeah, I know!’”
The film goes on to explain “dolce far niente”: the sweetness of doing nothing; an Italian ideal of doing nothing and enjoying it. No stress, no journals, no checklists, nothing. All that matters is living in the moment.
“Dolce far niente,” I mumble to myself. Hmm, that’s not it. Let’s try that again. With my best (awful) Italian accent, I grandly gesture my hands as if I were conducting an orchestra and shout, “Dolce far niente!” I can do nothing. Simple. I slip on my Birkenstocks and head for a walk.
I zip past my unruly, shameful front lawn I’m too cheap to maintain. Before I get the chance to enjoy my neighbour’s pristine flower garden, my guilty mind is drowned by an ocean of potential optimizations. What’s the ideal time outside to meet my daily Vitamin D intake? I should have grabbed my earbuds to finish my podcast. Or maybe that audiobook I’ve been putting off. I should start jogging to reach the daily 10,000 step count.
I must have confused simple with easy — “doing nothing” is difficult.
While attempting to enjoy my sinful walk, I stumble upon a post from Wandering Aimfully:
Maybe my perspective has been too narrow, too focused on what a productive Wednesday might look like. Zooming out, maybe living a productive life means finding balance. Maybe it means prioritizing rest and time spent with friends and family. Maybe it means living in the present moment, unencumbered by the next item on the checklist, next goal, next whatever. What’s the point if I never stop and smell the flowers?
My 2021 is for embracing “dolce far niente,” kickstarting it by letting the Christmas holidays be a holiday. If you FaceTime-sneak-attack me during the break, I may be dunking gingerbread cookies in my eggnog latte. You might hear basketball shoes squeaking on NBA Christmas hardwood floors, dissonantly contending with my mom’s favourite Christmas tunes. You might find me spinning up the first episode of The Office. Or, you might catch me being idle, savouring the sweetness of doing nothing.
Thank you to Jess and Amy for their time and magical editing skills.
