(Italian) Bel far niente

(English) The beauty of doing nothing

Over break I read “Eat, Pray, Love” by Elizabeth Gilbert, which details a year of the author’s life, including four months she spent in Italy. While there, she has a conversation with one of her friends, who says that “Americans have an inability to relax into sheer pleasure” because we spend billions to entertain ourselves, we know how to stare at the TV in a “mild coma,” but we don’t know how to just ... relax and let ourselves do nothing for a time.

But, he goes on to assure her, Italians are masters of bel far niente — the art of doing nothing — and therefore, she is in an ideal place to learn this important skill. Now, I’ve never been to Italy, so I can’t confirm or refute this statement. But I will agree that I and the majority of people I know (most of whom also happen to be Americans) really don’t know how to “do nothing.” It’s almost absurdly amusing when you think about it. How hard can it be to just do nothing? Surely, it’s harder to actually get things done.

At the end of fall quarter, after finishing my last final, I went into overdrive for a day, as I packed and tried to tie up loose ends and say goodbye to everyone on campus. When I got back to North Carolina after a red-eye flight, I slept soundly for about eight hours, finished up a portfolio piece for Creative Writing (a class I highly endorse) and went to a neighborhood party so my parents could show me off.

Finally time to relax? No.

I then sat down to write out a list of all the things I wanted to get done over break: books I wanted to read, things to do to get ahead in classes I was planning to take this quarter, things I wanted to write, comics to draw, people I needed to see and so on. Now, this isn’t unusual for me. I sometimes have to write in my planner, “call parents” or “clean retainers,” because I have a tendency to forget things like that in the storm of wanting to check things off.

I reassure myself with the observation that I’m not the only person so insane. I mean, I know it’s been said a million times before, but there are a lot of ducks here at Stanford. It’s kind of obligatory, right? We’re getting some of the most expensive educations available. It would be ungrateful to not completely pack our schedules and take advantage of all the amazing opportunities here. And most of us probably got in at least partially because we were used to doing everything back in high school. That’s a hard habit to break.

One of my friends works with a professor who puts in 60- to 80-hour weeks, between the lab he runs, surgeries he performs and all of his other responsibilities. My first thought when I heard that was: “Wow, I’m working hard in college specifically to avoid doing that for the rest of my life.”

The “I’m stretching myself now so I might have some slack for later” defense made sense when I was taking a part-time job in high school. And, yes, there’s a very good case for it now. But at what point does it end? Do I put in 60-hour weeks right when I get out of school to secure a better job for myself several years later? Do I take work home, despite not getting paid for all those extra hours and stress, because there’s a better chance of promotion and security in the future? When does it end? When you’re made mid-level management? Partner? CEO?

In “Eat, Pray, Love,” while living in Italy, Ms. Gilbert pretty much just ate, traveled around the country (eating wherever she went, of course) and practiced speaking Italian, which she was learning simply because she wanted to. Let’s just say that there are times when I really envy her.

But then, she was in her 30s, and had already been given an advance for the book she would write based on her experiences, which was what enabled her to make the trip in the first place. So there’s a clear argument for the “work hard, then take a break” approach.

But just taking a break isn’t bad either — I really like not doing anything during lunch and being able to just munch and wander around.

Kate is currently doing nothing. Email her at kltang@stanford.edu to shatter her happy bubble.