What is required as we travel towards full unemployment is not

Host: The co-working space was nearly empty, its glass walls reflecting the soft blue of a fading afternoon. The sound of keyboards had gone silent. Only the distant hum of an air conditioner filled the air, steady as a metronome. The walls were plastered with words like “Hustle”, “Rise & Grind”, “Work Harder” — slogans that once pulsed with ambition, now dull and ironic under the pale fluorescent light.

Jack sat at one of the long desks, sleeves rolled up, tie loosened, eyes tired from a day of pretending to be efficient. A half-eaten sandwich lay beside his laptop — the relic of a lunch never truly taken. Across from him, Jeeny leaned back in her chair, one foot propped against the table leg, scrolling through her phone lazily. Her coffee had gone cold hours ago.

For a long while, neither spoke. The silence of overwork had its own gravity. Then Jeeny sighed and looked up, her tone half amused, half philosophical.

Jeeny: “You know what Tom Hodgkinson once wrote? ‘What is required as we travel towards full unemployment is not new legislation but a gradual change of mental attitude, a shift in values. As our taste for idling grows, we will refuse to work for old-fashioned bosses who demand a five-day, 40-hour, nine-to-five type week, or worse.’”

Jack: (smirking) “Full unemployment. Sounds like paradise to me.”

Jeeny: “It’s not about laziness. It’s about liberation.”

Jack: “Tell that to the bills on my desk.”

Host: The lights flickered slightly — a reminder that even electricity works on schedule. The sunlight outside was retreating behind the city skyline, gilding the towers like trophies for endurance.

Jeeny: “That’s exactly Hodgkinson’s point. We’ve mistaken exhaustion for virtue. We’ve built a religion out of productivity.”

Jack: (leaning back) “And the sermon is ‘Do more with less.’”

Jeeny: “Right. But what if less is more? What if meaning isn’t in the output, but in the pause?”

Jack: (sighing) “You sound like you just escaped a monastery.”

Jeeny: “No, just a job I didn’t love. And you?”

Jack: “Still chained to the desk — but I’m working on my escape plan.”

Host: The screen glow reflected in his eyes, casting his face in the color of fatigue. Outside, traffic blurred by like moving ghosts.

Jeeny: “You know, Hodgkinson wasn’t joking when he said we need a mental shift. He wasn’t advocating laziness. He was advocating joy — the art of idleness as a creative state.”

Jack: “The ‘art of idleness.’ That’s a beautiful contradiction.”

Jeeny: “It’s not contradiction. It’s balance. Look — the old world trained us to believe work defines worth. But what if leisure — true leisure — could teach us who we are without the job titles?”

Jack: “You mean, a world without résumés.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. A world where people stop measuring themselves by how many emails they sent before breakfast.”

Host: The air in the office had changed — less sterile, more human. A few golden beams of the setting sun snuck through the blinds, touching the edges of their desks like quiet forgiveness.

Jack: “But how do you build a society around doing less? You still need food, infrastructure, medicine.”

Jeeny: “Of course. But Hodgkinson wasn’t saying abolish work — he was saying abolish drudgery. Reimagine work as voluntary creation, not coerced survival.”

Jack: “Work as play.”

Jeeny: “Or play as purpose.”

Host: The faint hum of a cleaning robot rolled through the hall — the sound of automation quietly replacing the night shift. Jeeny smiled faintly, gesturing toward it.

Jeeny: “See that? That’s the future — machines taking over the boring parts so we can finally be human again.”

Jack: “And what will humans do?”

Jeeny: “Think. Dream. Garden. Write poetry. Make mistakes. Love. Do all the inefficient, wonderful things we were built for.”

Jack: (half-laughing) “You really believe people can learn to idle after centuries of industrial conditioning?”

Jeeny: “We’ll have to. Because automation doesn’t ask permission. The question is — will we use our newfound freedom to create, or to collapse?”

Jack: “Maybe both.”

Jeeny: (grinning) “Then at least we’ll have time to enjoy the collapse.”

Host: The city lights blinked on one by one outside, dots of energy against the vast dark. Jack closed his laptop with a decisive click.

Jack: “You know, when I was a kid, I used to dream about growing up and doing something meaningful. Turns out, all I do is send memos about quarterly goals.”

Jeeny: “And that’s why the taste for idling matters. It’s not about laziness — it’s about reclaiming meaning from machinery. It’s about asking, Who am I when I’m not performing?”

Jack: “Maybe that’s what scares people most — the silence that comes after productivity stops.”

Jeeny: “Yes. Because silence forces you to meet yourself. And some people have been avoiding that meeting their whole lives.”

Host: The room dimmed further, until only the faint light from the city filtered through the blinds. Jack leaned forward, his voice quieter now.

Jack: “You really think we can shift that deeply — as a species?”

Jeeny: “We already are. Look around — remote work, slow living, people moving to small towns, starting gardens. We’re learning that time is the only real wealth. Hodgkinson was just early to the revolution.”

Jack: “A prophet of leisure.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And prophets always sound lazy until they’re proven right.”

Host: A small silence hung between them — the kind that feels less like emptiness and more like peace. Jack smiled faintly, almost embarrassed.

Jack: “You know, I can’t remember the last time I just sat somewhere and watched the world without checking the clock.”

Jeeny: “Then maybe tonight’s a good time to start.”

Jack: (closing his eyes briefly) “Yeah… maybe it is.”

Host: The camera would pull back now — the two of them still sitting there in the soft glow of a fading workday, surrounded by abandoned desks, silent screens, and the gentle hum of a world slowly remembering how to breathe.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The city, for once, seemed still.

And in that quiet, Tom Hodgkinson’s truth settled like evening light:

That the future does not belong to those who work hardest,
but to those who reclaim time as their truest form of wealth.

That idleness is not escape,
but resistance —
a quiet rebellion against the cult of efficiency.

And that when we finally stop racing the clock,
we may rediscover
that life itself —
in its slowness, its leisure, its living pulse —
was the work worth doing all along.