For a while, we believe that work defines us. No matter how busy we are, we tell ourselves, “it’s all going to be worth it.”
We applaud our busy-ness, don’t we? We think we’re better than those other “lazy so-and-sos!” We’re proud of ourselves, dangit. But for all our hard work, in reality… we’re only winning a minor league trophy. To tell the truth, we’re not only not heading anywhere… we’re actually escaping from something much more important, something we need to be working on instead:
Busy-ness is the most socially acceptable way we use to avoid ourselves… it’s no wonder so many of us choose it. If we used this as an excuse in high school and college, as in… “I’m too busy to have a social life”… we’re probably still using it in our daily lives. I used to think being a workaholic was a good thing… until I saw how sad it made my poor, poor heart….
Because — let’s make no mistake — if I’m too busy to spend time with myself, to enjoy my own interests, my own presence… I’m too busy to do that for anyone else, either. I’m not really ready for a meaningful relationship. Because we can only give to others what we give to ourselves, and some of us are being horrible misers. And I’m not talking about small-time gifts here… spa days and new haircuts. I’m talking about TIME and INTEREST spent with yourself… not with your job, your “progress.” I’m talking about not asking others to do for you what you should be doing for yourself: approving of yourself… for being who and how you are!
Oh beautiful soul!
So… if I write and call you, and all you talk to me about is how busy you are… good luck! If you can’t make free time for yourself… if you won’t defend your right to enjoy your life, to take the time to enjoy your self, your confusion, your silent lostness, your aliveness… that means — oh dearest one — you’re definitely too busy… for me.