By HELEN RUSSELLSPECIAL TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL – Dolce far niente – or the sweetness of doing nothing – from the Latin dulcis meaning “sweet; facere, meaning “to make or do”; and nec entem – literally “not a being.”
Although difficult to determine when the phrase was first used (proponents were far too peaced out to bother transcribing), the term appears in print in the memoirs of Casanova, the famous 18th-century Italian adventurer. Presumably when he eventually tired of all his carnal and geographical adventuring and needed a rest. Today, the term exists as a treasured concept that’s seldom spoken out loud but often hashtagged on Instagram accompanying pictures of Italians in hammocks. Casanova would be #proud.
Forget Anita Ekberg paddling in the Trevi fountain at dawn in La Dolce Vita: think Fellini passed out in a hammock after the wrap party (probably). Or the vague sense memory of sitting in the shade on a summer’s day long ago, before you became preoccupied with work, family, and the hamster wheel of “life.” Dolce far niente is a soul-expanding celebration of doing nothing – something that’s actively discouraged in much of the world where the cult of “busy” is ubiquitous. Okay, so Italy hasn’t exactly topped any happiness rankings in recent years, but the cliche of the carefree Italian still exists – and with good reason. Italians do “nothing” like no other nation and perfecting the art takes style and skill – because there’s more to it than meets the eye.
“Dolce far niente is almost an act of defiance for Italians,” says Francesco De Carlo, a comedian born and bred in Rome. “We live in a country with a lot of corruption where we don’t trust the law, or rules, or society. … We don’t even like the referee in soccer. And we LOVE soccer,” he tells me, “so why shouldn’t we opt out? Why shouldn’t we take a break whenever we can to stay happy?”
“There is chaos all around in Italy so the only thing you can depend on is friends and family,” says Francesco, adding that, “happiness is in the little things.”
It’s watching the world go by over coffee and a cornetto. It’s laughing at tourists. Or politicians. Or the Pope. “Or anything really,” says Francesco. “We have to laugh or we’ll cry, so humour is very important. In Rome, especially, everyone is a comedian. The waiter bringing your coffee will stop and tell the whole restaurant a joke first. You just have to wait.” While the seconds tick by, instead of drumming fingers on a table or checking a phone incessantly, Italians will relax into the moment. That’s dolce far niente. “In the U.K., you’re obsessed with schedules, with everything running on time,” Francesco shakes his head: “People work a lot then they stop working and go crazy, drinking until they forget themselves.” I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “But in Italy, we drink to enjoy ourselves.
“There’s not so big a difference between working and not working for Italians and we don’t worry too much about the future – chissenefrega – we just enjoy the present.”
This mode of thinking is revolutionary in its simplicity. Many of us search for relaxation by travelling to exotic locations, drinking to oblivion, or blotting out the noise of modern life with whatever our favoured crutch might be. But what if we were to let the chaos envelop us or sank into it like a hot bath? What if, instead of saving up our “fun quota” for an annual escape, we spread it over the minutes, hours, and days throughout the year and gave “enjoying life” a go? The Italians seem to. Other significant words include penichella, similar to the Spanish siesta; meriggiare, a poetic term that means “to pass the hottest hours of the day in the shade”; and abbiocco, a noun used to describe the sleepy feeling you get after a big meal. Drowsiness is such an art form in Italy that the phenomenon of doing nothing has been enshrined in the lexicon.
