The Story of Being Busy

For years, ‘busy’ was my go-to answer.

How are you? “Busy.”

I said it the way some people say "fine". Automatically, but there was some pride too.

Being busy meant being needed. Being needed meant it was all working.

Then I had a head injury, and I had to stop being busy for a while.

I didn’t take the pause gracefully.

Not being busy felt unnatural, because if I wasn’t busy then who was I?

That's the thing about busyness. Sometimes it's a place to hide.

As long as you have no capacity, you never have to be with the questions that surface when everything is quiet.

And when I was finally forced to be still I understood what I’d been resisting.

I'd been telling myself a story about money. That I had to keep up a pace and easing off meant things would fall apart.

It felt less like a choice and more like some contract I’d made.

Being forced to stop showed me it wasn't nearly as true as I had made it and the busyness had prevented me from realising that.

These stories only show themselves when you stop long enough to hear them.

You don't need a head injury to find that out. But you do need to stop.

The Story of Being Busy...