Tuesday, September 8, 2015
Busy feels like a requirement, something that you need to be in order to live a fulfilling life. It's put on a pedestal and glorified. For my part, if I can't enumerate all that I got accomplished in a day to my husband or tell someone how much I've been up to since last we met, I feel slightly embarrassed and lazy. If I have free time, I often have to fight off the urge to fill it up with something. (usually an empty distraction)
And I know I'm not alone. So many people I know live such hectic and packed lives that we can't even manage to meet up and grab a coffee or a glass of wine once every six months. And if we do, many of them fill in the gaps in conversation by pulling out their phones to check email and social media. (my biggest pet peeve)
This makes me wonder, why do we treat time like an enemy? Why do we strive so hard to fill it and kill it, rather than ease in to and appreciate it? We're only given a finite amount of it, shouldn't it be precious - not bothersome?
Is being constantly busy all it's cracked up to be? Is it worth packing your schedule so full that you're rarely in the house you refer to as home? Is it worth having such long to-do lists that in order to finish you need to give up things like leisure, sleep and time with loved ones? Is it worth working so much that you miss your children growing up? Does it truly benefit us to fill in our spare moments with social media, games and junk television rather than be alone with our thoughts, or share a conversation with someone?
As I ponder my own relationship with time and annoyance with the hold busy has had in my life, I savor my fresh brewed coffee, the scent of bright yellow bouquets of flowers waft around me, and my son gently pulls wooden blocks out of a basket and taps them together, babbling his toddler talk, before stacking them. The rewards of a slow morning spent observing and questioning, snuggling and appreciating.
Things I'd miss out on if I were furiously working through the mountainous to-do list I could very easily have written myself when I got up. How could I possibly feel embarrassment, guilt or like I'm lazy for having truly experienced these moments? How could anyone?
I'm deglorifying busy in my life, I'm slowing down and savoring the time I have with loved ones, beloved hobbies, nature and my home. Time and I need to rebuild our relationship and we'll do so one quiet, fully present moment at a time.