I’ve been back in Rome for almost three weeks now. Three weeks in which temperatures kept rising, I visited the beaches near Rome, I saw old friends again (some after months and some even after four years!) and I also got to meet new people. Three weeks in which a special day happened to take place too. Last Sunday, to be precise. It was my onomastico, my name day.
For years, I’ve been saying that I’d rather celebrate this day than my birthday
The twenty-sixth of July is the day to celebrate all Anna’s, Anne’s, Annie’s and so on. For years, I’ve been saying that I’d rather celebrate this day than my birthday – as my grandmother used to tell us that her parents valued her name day more than her birthday – because when you’re born on the second of January, like me, an outside celebration under the stars is something you keep dreaming of for the rest of your life. But despite the fact that last year, when I lived in Naples during the summer, I made it a real party treating everyone to pizzette and other snacks, it wasn’t such a special day this year. Ever since I quit my nine-to-five office job, there’s not such a clear difference between weekends and weekdays anymore and this week, it just so happened that I had left all the ‘chores’ for the weekend.
Because no matter how Italian I have become in all I do, all of a sudden all the tables around me mistrustfully took me in as la straniera, the foreigner
One of those ‘chores’ was writing my blog. From the beginning of this blog adventure, I’ve labelled Monday as blog-day and since working well ahead of time has never been something I managed to do, I always find myself writing eagerly in the weekend. So once again, I was typing the first sentences of my blog on Sunday night. I had taken my laptop to a cafe nearby and took a red velvet muffin with my caffè macchiato to still celebrate my name day a little. And even though this is a café par excellence where freelance journalists, writers and so-called digital nomads are diligently working on their Macbooks (Apple seems to have a true monopoly among freelancers) all week long, me bringing my laptop with me on a Sunday night was taking it too far even in this hipster place. Because no matter how Italian I have become in all I do, all of a sudden all the tables around me mistrustfully took me in as la straniera, the foreigner. Ehm, scusate.
The true art of life is not to have that glass of wine as a reward for your hard work. Because then you’re actually telling yourself that you have to earn it first
Because Sunday is Sunday. The day when perhaps the most Italian motto “dolce far niente” completely takes over. Dolce far niente, freely translated: the art (and pleasure) of doing nothing. The well-known scene from the film Eat, Pray, Love, in which Julia Roberts – as the American Elizabeth Gilbert on her quest for happiness – ends up in a Roman hairdresser’s salon and a Roman middle-aged guy, while lying in the barber’s chair, gives her a fine explanation of the deep-rooted problem of the Americans and their destructive high performance society, hits the nail on the head. The true art of life is not to have that glass of wine as a reward for your hard work. Because then you’re actually telling yourself that you have to earn it first. By working far too hard, for example, which may result in a burn-out. And you would probably still not meet the unrealistic expectations you have set for yourself, or – even worse – your boss has set for you. No, the essence and power of the Italian dolce far niente is to do nothing without having to do something first. Doing nothing after doing nothing as it were. At any moment of the day – of your life in fact – you can take a step back. Just close the door behind you, leave the mess as it is and go out for lunch. And on Sundays, you’re even expected to do that here in Italy.
I was blushing when I asked for the bill after half an hour only (and that wasn’t because of that red velvet muffin…)
Because what has struck me in recent years is that the problem of the destructive performance society is no longer just an American problem. When I see the massive work load and high pressure that my Italian friends, who are only at the beginning of their career, have to deal with making days at the office that are much longer compared to what I was used to back in the Netherlands (until half past eight is dead normal here), it really worries me. But fortunately, the Italians have been born with that talent to truly enjoy life that reveals itself in all its glory on Sunday afternoons that seem to stretch out endlessly. The dolce far niente before another long week begins. The fact that I was sitting on a terrace with my laptop and my cup of coffee while literally every table around me was populated by groups of friends and family who feasted on large glasses of aperol spritz and platters full of hams and cheeses, was absolutely embarrassing. I was blushing when I asked for the bill after half an hour only (and that wasn’t because of that red velvet muffin…). This week’s blog would have to be written even more last-minute than usual because this Sunday evening, there was no chance I would be touching my laptop anymore.
Despite the critical comments from the more northerly (and automatically much cooler and cloudier) areas, we know better by now. Because it’s a pure blessing
And now it’s Monday again, and with the start of this new week, the last days of July have arrived. August is around the corner and in Rome that means that the temperatures are going to rise even further (nothing as predictable as the August weather in Rome). I take a look at the weather forecast. The temperature will increase to 37 degrees in the shade. Every day, I witness the pace of this city of millions slowing down. The heat literally forces us all to our knees. It is something that is often viewed with a sceptical eye in Northern Europe, these siestas and the fact a whole country can be on holiday for the entire month of August. Municipalities, banks, offices, but also at my favourite coffee bar: everywhere you’ll find the same note on their (digital) doors: “Torneremo il primo settembre”. We’re back the first of September. And despite the critical comments from the more northerly (and automatically much cooler and cloudier) areas, we know better by now. Because it’s a pure blessing. The reason why Italy is the way it is. Why it has that relentless attraction to everything and everyone. Sixty million people who have understood the true art of living, il dolce far niente, and are eager to let you experience it too. It’s the most effective way to keep any burn-out far away. All you have to do is dare to surrender. And believe me, when it’s 37 degrees in the shade, you don’t want to do anything else.