An idle day keeps grumpiness away

There is an Arabic saying that the soul travels at the pace of a camel. We may dance our lives to the tune of our diaries' strict demands, but our soul plods behind, burdened by the weight of nostalgic memory.

So true. If I am physically in Malta, then my mind, which travels at the speed of the defunct Concorde, is up there in Reykjavik while my soul is somewhere in the dunes of the Sahara, carrying its increasingly burdensome camel's load.

And am I tolerant to the pace of my soul? Not really. But I don't think I'm the only one. Un-coordination of our 'selves' has become a recent human affliction.

Bear with me while I talk World Cup again: it's the perfect reality check of humanity's ailments, because oh dear oh dear, it's turning out to be a prime-time soap opera: hopeless performances of star-studded teams; players sent home; attempted mutinies; players scared of coaches; coaches scared of players; and weirdest of them all - footballers on strike.

The mind boggles. "It's the Eurovision," said a friend of mine, and he has a point, for this has become entertainment of the grumpy, kitchy kind.

The silver lining lies in footballers who don't earn planeloads of money and who do not have a particularly shining talent but have even had to take unpaid leave to participate in the games - cue the likes of New Zealand, Ghana and Algeria. They play with their heart and soul, give their utmost, and consequently cheer us up no end.

Which is a perfect lesson in what we can do when we manage to co-ordinate mind, body and soul: not only does it make us happy but we even radiate the happiness.

The trick is to find pleasure in the smallest things. One of my favourite 19th-century authors, Robert Louis Stevenson, has an essay entitled 'The Enjoyment of Unpleasant Places', and in it he contemplates: "Wherever a man is, he will find something to please and pacify him. Let him only look for it in the right spirit, and he will surely find."

One imagines that Stevenson, the eternal optimist, could find something uplifting even when watching one disappointing game after the other.

His optimism sprung from spending many an idle day. For, it's on idle days that the soul tries to catch up with the body, and the mind is roped in back home. "Idleness does not consist in doing nothing, but in doing a great deal not recognised in the dogmatic formularies of the ruling class," he said.

Which brings me on to next Thursday, July 1: it's international Idle Day. It's a day which doesn't have many fans. Yet. For I really think we should all pencil it in and make it a point to spend the day loafing and appreciate that the best things in life are free. Like love, or oxygen.

I'm not saying we should all take the day off - although throwing in a sickie wouldn't really harm anyone would it? But we can be idle at work. We can take the time to actually have a conversation with a colleague rather than 'mmm-mmm-ing' to each other from behind our screens.

Nor am I saying let's reject material pleasures in favour of loftier ones. Good Lord, no; in fact, go for a long lunch with your colleagues and choose the most expensive bottle of wine - the ideas that will start flowing will make you forgo the boardroom forever.

Put 'being busy' on pause. Actually, to hell with busy. The other day I was chatting to a guy who was complaining about his 24/7, blah, blah, uncreative day job. His passion, he said, as his eyes lit up for the first time, was diving.

Well, I said, why don't you quit your job and follow your heart to the sea? "Nah. That's too risky. I'd have to give up my lifestyle."

It is sad that at times we're happier sticking to the mediocre than take a plunge which would make our life much more meaningful and soulful. We have truly become slaves to our jobs and lifestyles.

So, I'm planning out next Thursday for you: wake up, stretch, grin and go back to bed.

Later on, report to work or not. If you do, go for a long lunch and then set off for home an hour earlier. Say that you have an appointment. With your hammock. Lie there, and strategically plan the Golden Age of the Mankind, while tucking into a scarlet, juicy watermelon or doze off while reading a slim volume of verse.

Ah, is this not happiness? Surely, my soul would have reached the Maltese shores by the end of the evening.

krischetcuti@gmail.com