So here’s the thing. I’ll let weeks go by without writing, without creating anything because I don’t have time. I mean it’s the mantra of the age, right? We don’t have time. We’re very busy. I really hate that word, by the way, “busy.” It’s a life sucker and yet we put it on a pedestal and venerate it like a god.
“How are you today?”
“I’m sooooo busy!”
“Oh well great! That’s good! Me too!”
And then we scurry along whatever path we were on and we don’t actually know a damn thing about the other person’s actual state of being, or, likely, our own.
And I get it. Believe me, I get it. We juggle five schedules like a 3-ring circus around these parts trying to get grown kids through school, and off to internships and into adulthood while juggling our own jobs and side hustles and trying to be something besides a work robot eighty hours a week. I get it. I’m right there in it with you.
But I’m not happy about it. In fact, you could describe my attitude about this phase of life as “extreme discontent.” I don’t want to fall in bed exhausted every day after work only to wake up and repeat the same pattern.
Most days much like the last.
I’ve never been very good at settling. This doesn’t mean that I am never content. I actually have a pretty low contentment threshold: books, wine, cheese, husband, and a place to shut out the world for a bit on the daily. Those are my basic requirements. I can be content.
What I can’t be is stagnant.
I think I went stagnant for a little while in February. The good news is, I’ve spent far longer than a few weeks bogged down in busyness and complacency. Far longer. This has been a short detour.
So, I’ve made a little pact with myself. I can’t change what this season is. We’ll continue to run around figuring out who needs to be where, when and for how long and which car goes with which person to accomplish this for a while longer. This is where we are.
But I don’t have to accept that the period for that sentence comes after the word busy. In fact, I don’t even have to accept that busy is the main focus of that sentence.
When someone asks how I am, I may just answer, “I’m inspired to create beauty.” Or “I’m excited by my work.” Or “I’m doing nothing for a little while later, how about you?”
Busy is boring. Everyone’s doing it. And I think we’ve established that I am not one to join a bandwagon.
Take this morning. My time didn’t work out as I planned it last night. Things took longer. I feel a little crunched. I am not sure what’s for lunch or dinner (*shakes fist at Whole30*). But I’m not too busy to be just a little creative, not perfect, not artistic and awe-inspiring, but generative. I can create a little beauty and a little hope for the world.
And so I have, flawed and imperfect, and probably a little silly – but something from nothing all the same. What a gift, indeed.
Perfection is as boring as busyness. I’m over my obsession with both. Here’s to finding creative ways to create space for more than just busy. Here’s to waking up on a new day in a new month and realizing there’s space enough to sit and simply be. Here’s to stopping and starting…and starting again and again and again, and not becoming stagnant.