The Uncomfortable Distinction That Is Destroying My Generation
“It’s not that I’m lazy. It’s that I just don’t care.” — Peter Gibbons, Office Space
If you live in the West, you’ve probably had to listen to a lot of people tell you how busy they are. It’s become the default response when you ask anyone how they’re doing.
One utters “I’m fine” in a neutral tone, then slightly raises one’s chin, puts forward one’s chest and self-assuredly voices the magic word: “Busy!”
Being busy is a social norm — the response is a boast disguised as discontent.
Interestingly, this complaint is made exclusively by people whose dreaded busyness is self-imposed: caused by obligations they’ve taken on voluntarily. The single parent working three jobs doesn’t complain about being busy. Only people like me — PhD-candidates with a blog and a podcast — do.
There are many justified criticisms of today’s culture of “performative workaholism”. These often portray busy people as addicted to hustle because they dread the existential emptiness they will face in its absence. Running away from silence and confrontation with ourselves, we fill our days as a ‘reassurance of usefulness’. People do so much is because they need the toil to feel worthy of love and belonging. Hence…
