I like listening to music and driving. How do you say... It's

Hear the words of Lapo Elkann, heir of legacy yet seeker of peace, who declared: “I like listening to music and driving. How do you say… It’s the only way I can ‘chillax.’” At first, these words sound light, almost playful, clothed in modern slang. Yet within them is hidden a timeless yearning: the human desire to find stillness in motion, harmony in sound, and a sanctuary from the relentless weight of life’s demands. For Elkann speaks not merely of pastime, but of the ancient search for rest of the soul.

To drive upon open roads is to taste freedom, to slip the bonds of walls and crowds. The road becomes a river, the horizon a promise. And when joined with music, it becomes more than travel—it becomes communion. Music fills the air, lifting the spirit above worry, reminding the heart that beyond the noise of ambition, there is melody, rhythm, and release. Elkann names this state as “chillax,” but the ancients would have called it tranquility, the harmony between the restless body and the searching soul.

This wisdom is not new. Consider the Roman emperor Hadrian, who, though burdened with empire, would ride for long hours across his lands, finding solace in motion, peace in the rhythm of hoofbeats. For him, as for Elkann, movement was not escape but restoration. The journey itself became meditation, the road a teacher, the rhythm of travel a balm for the weary mind. Even the mightiest rulers sought this—moments where power, duty, and stress dissolved into simple freedom.

And is not music itself an eternal refuge? The shepherd with his flute, the sailor with his chant, the monk with his hymn—all found renewal in song. Elkann joins this lineage, blending sound and motion, creating for himself a sacred space where the burdens of inheritance, fame, and expectation are washed away, if only for a moment. In this, his light-hearted words carry a truth the wise should not overlook: every soul needs its ritual of renewal.

The meaning is therefore profound: man cannot labor endlessly, nor can he live only in the eyes of others. To endure, he must find those moments where he may breathe, where he may “chillax,” where he may be not prince or worker, leader or servant, but simply a soul at peace. Elkann finds this in driving with music; others may find it in walking, in silence, in art, or in prayer. What matters is not the form, but the release—the conscious choice to lay down burdens for a time and be restored.

The lesson for us is plain: seek your own sanctuary. Do not despise the small acts that bring you calm, for they are not trivial—they are essential. To rest is not weakness but wisdom; to restore the spirit is not indulgence but necessity. If the road calls you, drive. If music heals you, listen. If another art gives you peace, embrace it. In these acts of renewal, you preserve your strength for the battles yet to come.

Practical action lies close at hand. Each day, make space for your own “chillaxing”—not as idle escape, but as sacred ritual. Step away from the weight of expectation, if only briefly. Listen to a song, take a drive, breathe in silence. And do so without guilt, knowing that by refreshing yourself, you prepare to return with clarity, resilience, and courage.

Thus the words of Lapo Elkann endure: though wrapped in jest, they carry the truth of the ancients. Every soul must find a way to wash off the dust of the world. Through music and driving, he finds his rest; through your own chosen path, you may find yours. Guard these moments, for in them lies the strength to live fully, bravely, and at peace.