A couple of months ago, I was interviewing my friend Oscar about his latest book—a fascinating journey through the Himalayan mountains. By the way, it’s well worth a read; here’s the link if you’d like to check it out.
During our conversation, we focused on a term used frequently in the book that instantly caught my attention: oziophobia, the fear of doing nothing. Or rather, the fear I didn’t know I had but had been living with all along (just to clarify, the term is an artificial translation of the Spanish ociofobia, created by the psychologist Rafael Santandreu).
Despite years of training in Zen and mindfulness, Shultz hours, wellbeing practices, and other disciplines designed to cultivate stillness, I still find myself battling it. Gotta say that being born premature and hyperactive hasn’t exactly made this mission any easier.
I don’t know if it’s the chaos of the world we live in, the uncertainties brought by geopolitical and technological tensions, or the relentless pressure to always be productive, but this concept has been occupying my thoughts for the past few days. And like most of my rambling thoughts, it just added fuel to the fire in my mind. Is this fear a product of our times? Are we obsessed with productivity? Are we right to focus relentlessly on results, often at the expense of how we feel in the process? Are we truly defined by what we produce? And, more importantly, is this the best way to achieve meaningful results?
I opened the newspaper yesterday and saw a clear message from Elon Musk to US federal workers: Tell me everything you accomplished last week – bullet points only – within 48 hours, or you’re fired. (Well, technically, he considers it resignation). If the list isn’t long enough, you’re deemed unproductive, underperforming, replaceable.
Imagine this: you’ve spent twenty years in public service, doing your job with dedication, and suddenly, that’s not enough. Not to mention that you have a contract with the public administration, that you may have faced serious family issues that week, or that you might be unable to share sensitive data. I mean, is the rule of law becoming arbitrary and subject to the productivity dogma? I’m used to see law firms’ partners managing associates’ workloads, requesting weekly reports and checking timesheets, but this? This feels outrageous. Worse yet, it’s fundamentally flawed. I don’t think this metric actually measures the real value of our work.
One of the greatest misconceptions of our time is the belief that every day must count the same, that every hour must be maximized, that otium is a flaw rather than a necessity.
Let’s be clear, otium isn’t laziness. It’s the pause that allows us to see the world clearly, reflect, and create. It’s detachment from public life as seen by Cicerone, Seneca, Ovidio, Orazio, and some of the major minds of our humanity.
History shows us that some of the greatest intellectual and artistic achievements emerged from idleness and contemplation. Without the pandemic lockdown, we wouldn’t have King Lear. Without Newton sitting under a tree, we wouldn’t have the theory of gravity. Without Leonardo spending countless hours observing nature, we probably wouldn’t have Virgin of the Rocks.
And yet, despite these examples, we keep pushing forward mindlessly, afraid to stop, as if stopping means failure.
Sometimes, our body forces us to pause. Sometimes, our mind does. But sometimes, when both our mind and body are still working, we choose to ignore them and keep running frantically, without direction – just running for the sake of it.
As for me, I’m exhausted. I’d love to stop, but I have to keep running because I decided to launch a business, and that isn’t exactly a job for relaxed people. Somehow, everything has to fit together, like pieces of a puzzle.
Honestly, this is what concerns me most. Not just on a personal level, but on a collective one.
Maybe, just maybe, learning to embrace stillness is a true act of rebellion. One of the most radical things we can do.
Like avoiding responding to that email.
