Summer had settled in, comfortable and warm, bringing with it the promise of vacation and well-deserved rest. But is that what vacations truly are? A pause? For many people, vacations represent a desired discontinuity, a longed-for rupture. Yet desire creates pressure, and when this pressure becomes too intense, desire risks losing its generative character and can become destructive. We want so badly to stop. We want to stop so we can do what we cannot or are not permitted to do when caught in the demands of routine. But do we know how to stop? Are we so conditioned by the culture of incessant productivity that we’ve transformed even our rest into a form of performance?1
Byung-Chul Han, in his books “The Agony of Eros” and “Vita Contemplativa,” offers a critical perspective on the role of entertainment and constant activity in contemporary society. According to the philosopher, we live in an “achievement society” where productivity and efficiency have become supreme values, infiltrating even our moments of leisure.2 Beyond this interpretation of “achievement,” we might note that the word derives from “performance,” which readily evokes artistic rather than merely productive contexts. In a certain sense, contemporary society is, and perhaps always has been, a stage where we play various roles. Still, the ambition to entertain others with the things that entertain us seems increasingly evident. It’s a pity we’ve abandoned Aesthetic and Ethical care (I capitalize these purposefully) in our productions, which have little or nothing artistic about them in any deep sense.
It’s curious to observe how boredom and idleness have become almost profanities in the contemporary lexicon. They seem to be viewed as enemies of efficiency, threats to progress. Yet Han, among other authors,3 argues that it’s precisely in these moments of apparent inactivity that the potential for deep reflection and personal growth emerges. Paradoxically, by trying to eliminate these states through constant consumption of entertainment or the incessant pursuit of productivity, we’re undermining the very creativity and depth we claim to value.
Social media, endless series, mobile games: all compete for our attention, leaving us not a single moment to simply… be. This obsession with constant entertainment isn’t innocent. It serves perfectly the interests of a system that prefers distracted consumers and hyperactive workers to reflective citizens. After all, who has time to question themselves and the world when they’re too busy scrolling through Instagram or answering emails outside working hours?
Han proposes a radical alternative to this frenetic model of life: the rediscovery of “vita contemplativa.” He argues that contemplation, far from being a form of laziness or unproductivity, is actually a powerful form of resistance to the logic of constant production and consumption. Inactivity, according to Han, isn’t the absence of action but rather a different way of relating to the world and to oneself.
The concept of “profound boredom,” which Han explores, isn’t a state to be avoided but embraced. It’s in this type of boredom that the most original ideas emerge, the deepest reflections occur. It’s an invitation to rediscover the pleasure of doing nothing,4 of allowing the mind to wander without a predetermined objective. In a world obsessed with goals and results, allowing oneself to simply be is a revolutionary act.
Yet even this invitation meets resistance. A recent Portuguese critique captured our predicament perfectly with its title: ‘A cacofonia dos podcasts.’5 We’ve ensured that no commute, no walk, no household chore remains unaccompanied by voices discussing productivity, self-improvement, or the latest cultural discourse. The very moments that once offered natural contemplation—the transitional spaces between activities—have been colonized by our fear of unstructured thought.”
I rejoice with my kids’ expressions of anger when I reply with a shoulder shrug when they come to say “I have nothing to do,” or, “I’m bored.” Curious that I don’t have any memory of saying these kinds of things to my parents. Perhaps this reflects generational differences in entertainment availability, or perhaps it reveals how thoroughly we’ve internalized the need for constant stimulation. I remember asking permission to do things I came up with while being bored, and being rejected and left with, again, boredom. In a world where the comfort of predictability is an increasingly sought-after and valued state,6 “curiosity is insubordination in its purest form,” to quote Vladimir Nabokov.
Vacations, which should be a moment of decompression, often become a marathon of activities and social media shares. It seems we have to prove to the world (and to ourselves) that we’re making the most of our free time. Is there a more foolish expression than “occupation of free time”? It’s an almost-oxymoron, unintelligently conceived. If these are “free times,” why should we have the pretension to occupy them? But are we really living, or just performing a hyperactive, performative version of rest?
