Enough Time/ Slow Living

I read a New Yorker article about being busy, about how overwhelmed our society is, by and large. One of the ideas mentioned is that busyness is equated to importance. If you are important, you are busy.

I guess I'm not very important, because, I am not that busy, by nature and by design.

I don't cart my kids to dozens of practices and rehearsals. I prefer our evenings to be occupied with playing in the yard and family dinners, our weekends to be spent on the beach or around a bonfire. I like to spend time with my family and my friends, rather than driving around in our beloved minivan and then being forced to make small talk with other parents as our kids do all the things we think that they are supposed to be doing.

And as I was writing this post, I realize that this risks turning into nothing more than a humble brag, just me waxing philosophical  about how I have figured out how to live a slow, purposeful life. The truth is, I do feel pretty good about the pace of my life and the lives I'm helping to shape. But it does come at a cost. I frequently have to disparage myself. I have to brand myself lazy, apologize for all the things I don't do, for all the things I do badly.

I don't like to be busy. So that means I don't get involved. I don't spend time working on fundraisers or organizing events. And when people ask me to do things, which honestly doesn't happen that often, I don't have the handy excuse of being busy because... I'm not. And I don't want to be. So I say no so that I can remain that way. When I don't do the things that I really should do-- send care packages, volunteer at church, drop off boxes full of things to be donated, work-out-- I have no reasons to fall back on.

For instance, what did I do this weekend? I hung out. I spent about 10 hours on the beach. I folded some laundry. I made some food. I wrote a blog post. I looked over the new nature workbooks I bought for Sena and Gus. I watched three movies. I felt like I pretty good mother, but not the least bit productive. I am not, generally, very productive.

And I don't want to be. And I hope that's okay. I hope that the busy people will forgive me for not lightening their loads. I secretly suspect that their loads don't need to be so heavy anyway and that even if I did bear some of the weight, they would just find more things to pile on their poor, over-worked backs. But I hope they will forgive me all the same.

And with all my time spent not being busy, I'll just keep reading New Yorker articles and figuring out how to make them all about me.

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