I haven’t written a blog post since September.
I have been too busy.
I shouldn’t let busy get in the way of writing posts more frequently. Involuntarily, it has.
Busy seems to have become my catchphrase, my point of conversation.
A little something like this:
“How have you been?”
That’s what always comes.
I don’t mind busy. It’s just the way it is. Juggling single motherdom, work and study, amidst all the other things I do, doesn’t leave all too much space for hapless meandering these days.
Yes, yes… I’ve read all about the glorification of busy. I’ve seen those pretty designer posters with their dashing typewriter font that nearly always riddle me with a small amount of guilt for being one of those busy types.
But then I stopped feeling guilty because amongst all those pretty glorification of busy posters, I found a few that touched me a little deeper with a question more poignant than the guilt-ridden statement: stop the glorification of busy.
“What are you busy doing?”
It’s answer I could sink my teeth into.
I’m busy being an active, present mother.
I’m busy pursuing work and passions that I love.
I’m busy doing the best I can to maintain the relationships that mean the world to me.
I’m busy chasing my dreams and nurturing my soul.
I’m busy building making connections and building.
I don’t quiver or pause in responding to this question. I know exactly what I am busy doing and I am not sure that I really want to stop that. ‘What are you waiting for? Go do it!’ inspires me more than asking me to stop being busy because busy is bad.
I am not using my ‘busyness’ as a measure of my success, nor am I occupying my life with meaningless tasks that keep me from being present. I’m very present and I’m doing more of what I love but that also means I’m busier.
Still, I get it the busy thing. I crumbled into a heap pile the day I handed in my last assignment. And then again when my son finished up his year at kindergarten. And then one final collapse when work finished up for the summer holidays. Yes, I wanted the ground to swallow me whole and take away every sign of responsibility so I could sleep for a year or be entirely frivolous and spontaneous and irreverent with time. Or both of these things simultaneously.
But the ground did not swallow me whole and my alarm still sounded at an ungodly hour in the days to come.
I did, however, make one small promise to myself and my son after reading this fantastic article over at Hands Free Mama. I promised us that there would be no scheduling, no bookings and no jam packed days this school holidays. There would be no rushing in our very earnest and heartfelt attempts to experience everything. There would be no endless days away from our abode. There would be no rush to get out of the house.
This holidays, we promised each other, would be all about waking up in the morning and seeing where our feelings took us – train trips to nowhere in particular, hours baking in the sun on our very own lawn, there will be days of an unkept brothel house, nights curled up on the couch under blankets with books and torches and many, many days at home making monsters and forts and cookies and cream.
We will wake up. I will ask: “What you want to do today kid?” And our day would move like so.
This holidays, we promised, there’d be lots of that. And none of it would be rushed or measured or planned.
I will not abandon my building. I will not abandon chasing my dreams. I will not abandon doing what I love to avoid glorifying busy. And I will not abandon giving my son every experience I can possibly give him. But we will start a little slower and see where the feeling takes us.