Productivity has become the new measure of value. One no longer lives to exist, but to deliver. Every moment must be converted into output. Every gesture justified by its function. Even silence seems guilty. Rest is suspect. Idleness is treated as waste.

Usefulness has turned into an ontological demand. Only what serves a purpose is allowed to remain. Everything that resists the logic of performance — contemplation, slow thought, non-instrumental presence — is discarded or pathologized. Doing has replaced being. Efficiency, the place of meaning.

But what remains of life when it is only permitted under the condition of functionality? What survives of the human when even joy must prove its productivity? There may be a need to relearn how to inhabit time without goals, to value what brings no return, to preserve what serves no purpose. For a life justified only by its utility is no longer life — it is calculation.