The virtues of epicurean idleness
I re-watched Call Me By Your Name last night. The film perfectly embodies the feeling of the seemingly eternal summers of childhood—laying in the grass reading books, swimming, the rhythmic tick of cicadas, picking peaches off the tree, and walking around with bare skin freely exposed to the sun’s gentle heat, the wind exhaling through the trees and the feeling of going inside for a glass of water but stopping briefly to wait for the blackout of your vision to adjust to indoor light.
The cuts between these languorous scenes brought back nostalgia, not only for the slower pace but for a time before screens fragmented so much of the day. There are many moments in the film where Elio is bored, aimlessly wandering about the town, swimming alone, tinkering on the piano, staring at the ceiling or out over the balcony. It made me think how long it’s been since I just sat and stared for that long, or allowed myself to feel bored.
His aimlessness and the pace of that little Italian town inspired me. Over the past couple of months, a screen habit has managed to creep back in despite my chronic self-awareness. But this film has been the reminder I needed, about how much more nourishing it feels to spend hours on the grass getting lost in a storyline or blank-staring into the distance.
There’s a reason Westerners are so obsessed with Mediterranean culture—enough to visit each year. Their Epicurean approach to life is in everything. The daytime naps, evening spritzes with friends, making dough from scratch and hosing down the lemon tree. Long lunches and quiet moments sitting with an afternoon coffee. Small pleasures are coded into their everyday details, from little glasses of mineral water after coffee, to fruit or aperitivos after lunch.
Of course, it’s easier to romanticise from far away. I know the youth from these towns can’t wait to escape them, and that life there has its downfalls. But overall Mediterranean cultures know how to live. Half of my background is Greek and I’m so grateful for these little rituals I inherited from my Dad. Breakfasts of cheese, bread and olives, afternoons spent in the sun scoring and pickling Kalamatas in big white plastic buckets or catching abalone. He still grows ‘Vlita’ or amaranth leaves in the backyard from seeds he was gifted in Greece. They grow like weeds and are delicious when steamed with lemon, garlic and olive oil. My Yaya once showed me how to crochet as a disinterested kid, but I’m proud that I now share the same love.
I’m not going to Europe this year and don’t need to. All I need are my little Epicurean rituals to pace my days a little slower. We have the same hours in a day as the Europeans do and we know that life is too short not to enjoy what the Greeks call ‘glykiá rastóni,’ meaning sweet idleness or sweet leisure and the Italian version that became a viral Instagram saying ‘Dolce Far Niente,’ the sweetness of doing nothing.
