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 has always been, a stage where we play various roles. Still, the ambition to entertain others with the things that entertain us grows 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.

Boredom and idleness have become profanities in the contemporary lexicon. They’re seen as enemies of efficiency, threats to progress. Yet Han, among other authors, ³ argues that these moments of apparent inactivity hold the potential for deep reflection and personal growth. 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 the interests of a system that prefers distracted consumers and hyperactive workers to reflective citizens. 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 isn’t a form of laziness or unproductivity but rather 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. In this type of boredom, original ideas emerge, deeper reflections occur. It invites us 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 becomes revolutionary.

Even this invitation meets resistance. A recent Portuguese critique bore the 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.” I don’t have any memory of saying these kinds of things to my parents. This could reflect generational differences in entertainment availability, or 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. 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 living, or just performing a hyperactive, performative version of rest?

The return to work is often faced with a mixture of relief and anxiety. Relief at returning to routine, to productive “normality.” Anxiety at having to face the mountain of accumulated tasks. And so the cycle begins again, without our ever having truly stopped. Han proposes a radically different approach: incorporating contemplation into our daily lives, not as an escape from work, but as a way to enrich it and give it more meaning. It’s a kind of final abolition of the idea of work-life balance, moving toward genuine integration rather than the more or less evident imbalance that’s most common.

This dynamic reflects a society that has become profoundly uncomfortable with any experience that cannot be immediately converted into market value or productivity metrics. ⁷ What we lose in this process is what makes the contemplative life valuable: its unpredictable, non-utilitarian, and potentially transformative nature.

But do we need an alternative? Aren’t we just substituting one tyranny for another, exchanging the obsession with productivity for an obsession with contemplation? We quickly seek new prescriptions, new guides for living, even when these present themselves in the form of “doing nothing.”

The irony is clear: books, articles, and lectures that dictate how one should rest, how one should be unproductive. Not even idleness escapes the logic of optimization. “How to be better at doing nothing” could be the next self-help bestseller.

Instead of seeking a new formula for living, we could question the very need for formulas. Instead of worrying about doing the “right” thing, whether working incessantly or contemplating deeply, we could simply live more deeply, consciously, and conscientiously.

The challenge isn’t to embrace “vita contemplativa” or reject “achievement society.” The challenge is recognizing that we’re always oscillating between different states (active and contemplative, productive and idle) and that all have their place and value. The question might not be whether we should be productive or contemplative. The question could be: what am I avoiding by entertaining myself with things empty of meaning? ⁸ Or even: what am I afraid of finding when I dive deep and surrender to breadth? ⁹

The answers lie neither in frenetic action nor in deep contemplation, but in the simple and unpretentious acceptance of whatever life presents, whether that’s an afternoon of intense work or a moment of absolute boredom.

The reflection remains.

This essay was originally written in Portuguese in August 2024. It has been translated and adapted for English readers while preserving its exploration of how we’ve inverted ancient wisdom about leisure and contemplation in our relentless pursuit of productivity.