We’re All Busy

The other day I sent an email to a high school friend congratulating her on winning a teacher of the year award. She responded by telling me how incredibly busy she was going to be this summer driving her kids around and how she missed playing basketball with our team but she was just so busy she just couldn’t find the time.

What?

Since when did every human interaction become an opportunity to expound about how busy one is? Even when it’s not the topic of conversation? Because doesn’t it go without saying that we are all busy? I don’t really know anyone who isn’t because after all, we do have lives and they generally consist of things we need to do and things we want to do. Right? I know we all have weeks or months (sometimes years) where we are crazy busy but for some people, it’s a lifestyle, it’s who they are. For them to say, “Oh my, I am so busy,” is like some game of juvenile one-up-manship, implying, of course, that they are busier than you and therefore, very important.

Perhaps it was rude of me, but I didn’t ask about my friend about her summer or talk about basketball. I merely wanted to congratulate her on the award. Perhaps hearing from me reminded her of basketball and then she felt guilty or sad or angry or inferior or something and she needed to justify to herself that, yes indeed, she is important because she is so very busy.

When I hear people “complain” about being very busy, it irks me. Because really, isn’t it bragging? Behind the “misery” there is an air of pride, of accomplishment, of self-importance. Because if there wasn’t, why would anyone complain about being busy as if everyone else weren’t in the same boat? As if they didn’t choose to be busy?

Because busyness is a choice. Truly. There is nothing any one of us has to do. I know this is hard to swallow but it’s true. You don’t have to allow your children to have activities every night of the week. You don’t have to have a perfect house or yard. You don’t have to go to school (if you’re an adult). You don’t even have to work. It’s all a choice about how you want to live your life. Yes, there are consequences to not doing the above things, like having inactive, bored children, a messy house or having to live with your parents or on the street. People do make these choices and are fine with them. The reverse is true as well. There are consequences to doing these things, too, like being busy, for instance or having to give up other things. It’s a choice. That’s the beauty of it. No complaining allowed.

In her book Page after Page, Heather Sellers likens busyness to a drug because the first time you are crazy busy, it feels good. You feel important and accomplished and busy. Who hasn’t had a day like that? The thing is, it’s superficial. Being busy is a good way to keep things, people, feelings and dreams at bay.

Think about when someone tells you they are so incredibly busy and their life is just crazy. What do think?

You might think, wow, she’s really busy, she must be really important. It might even suck you in and cause you to think that you need to be busier just to keep up, because obviously, you’re not doing enough. Or you might think, wow, she’s really busy. I’d better let her go. Because certainly if anyone is that busy, what they are telling you is they don’t have time to talk to you. Either way, it’s very off-putting. This isn’t the kind of person you want to be around, which is good because they’re too busy anyway. See how this works?

Busyness is an illusion. It’s isolating and keeps you from other people and from your real life, from who you really are. You don’t have to think, you don’t have to feel, you just need to keep moving. And it never really works again as well as it did the first time. How is that different from a drug?

I was talking about this with another friend (who is also busy but not so busy that he doesn’t have time for friends) and his take was pretty much the same. He said, “We’re all busy. Aren’t you busy?”

“I’m as busy as I want to be,” I said. “I have no complaints.”

And isn’t that how it’s supposed to be?