Contemporary society, largely governed by the market economy—in its various forms—has operating paradigms that dictate the pace of work for those employed in companies. It is a world of competition between companies, and also of internal competition within them. Each employee must continually hone their skills and professional methods. A simple glance at the resumes circulating on job boards gives us an idea of ​​this competitive mindset. We list our education, skills, character traits, and achievements or results. In other words, everyone tries to stand out in order to land the job.

We are, as Byung-Chul Han ( The Burnout Society.  Herder, 2020) would say, in the midst of the performance society, whose prototype of worker seeks to be increasingly effective and efficient, capable of doing more and more things, in less time, surpassing himself, updating himself in the manner of an App (computer application), in a race whose goal is to be the best, or at least, to be in the narrow niche of the best experts.

As with so many things in life, maintaining sanity requires  moderation  in the goals one desires and the things one does. Moderation is one of the most difficult feats for most people to achieve: neither so much that they go mad, nor so little that they become complacent. For those with a competitive drive, the risk lies in excess, in the pursuit of success at all costs. They want to stand out and, curiously, this can lead—as Byung-Chul Han says—to self-exploitation. They may achieve the desired results, but at the price of being anxious, distressed, and restless. Running, running, and running; training tirelessly, just to keep running…

This professional whirlwind achieves goals, but it doesn’t seem to bring about life. Much activity, lights, stellar moments, but little serenity. There’s showmanship, but a lack of depth. There’s fire, but no embers. Long working hours, little home life. Abundant but cold contacts, an absence of friends and warm relationships. We could go on. However, with this list, I don’t intend to demonize competitiveness or the healthy drive for achievement. I’m trying to draw attention to the risk of placing the sole purpose of life on professional success, neglecting other dimensions of human existence, those that reside in the world of lived experience, nourished by interpersonal and familial relationships; where spending time with others is, in essence, gaining life.

Living isn’t about saving time; it’s about savoring it, so that the human narrative finds its plot in the various stages, spaces, and realms we inhabit. Nothing human is alien to us. Time for work. Time for family, friends, and neighbors. Time for rest. Time for solitude. Time to weep. And in all of this, knowing how to find the divine something that connects us to eternity. The Roman adage, *  non multa sed multum*,  not many things, but much of what is important and essential, serves us well.

How can I know what to do to find the right measure of life? I can’t think of a winning formula. Perhaps it would help to look at someone who has achieved that serenity of life, whose actions have sown joy and peace, a modest happiness within reach.