Week 14 - 49 years 3 months 1 week

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I’m sitting on the edge of my sofa with my laptop propped up on a throw pillow with various shades of aqua blue yarn woven across a dingy vanilla background that used to be white. The pillow is set on top of my coffee table, which used to belong to my mom, and has also seen better days.

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The early morning sun is streaming through the windows at my back. I can hear birds calling to each other, chirping secret messages back and forth about who’s hungry and “where are those grubs, Bob?”, and who needs more twigs, because “this nest isn’t going to build itself, Roger!”

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The ceiling fan above me silently hums a gentle breeze across my forehead and bare arms. I’m thinking about the word “nido” [NEE doe], which means ‘nest’ in Spanish, because I just typed the word ‘nest’ in English, and I’m considering what a sweet word it is, “nido”, and the sweet connotations it brings up for me of a mother bird making a nest for herself where she’ll lay her eggs and raise her babies. And I’m aware of how I can sense my grandmother’s presence every time I notice the birds. I’m sitting here sipping coffee with her, despite the fact that she made her departure almost 13 years ago.

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And I wonder how many of you, dear readers, take the time to sit in the quiet still of the early morning listening to birds, having coffee with your departed loved one, contemplating words that sound sweet or are fun to say.

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I wonder when the last time was that you just enjoyed what surrounds you. I wonder if you can recall the truth of the Creator wrapping itself around you, pulling you safely into its bosom, and in so doing reminding you how you are but a small drop in a large ocean, and also the entire ocean in just a tiny drop.

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I wonder if you know that the peace, the calm, the confidence, the appreciation, the validation, the safety, the admiration, the joy, the love, the connection that you spend everyday wishing for exists in the stillness, in the silence.

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Maybe the stillness of the evening and the setting sun. Maybe the stillness of the early morning birds and drops of dew on new blades of grass. Maybe the stillness of a swaying hammock in the shade on a hot summer afternoon. Maybe the silence of a crackling fire and snuggly blanket, as snow hushes the world outside. Maybe the silence of waves crashing on an empty beach, far away from summer. Maybe the silence and stillness of whatever respite you’re imagining right now.

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It’s obvious to me that we have become so accustomed to the noise of life that we no longer recognize the importance of silence. We have become so accustomed to the business of life that we no longer recognize the importance of stillness. We have accepted the idea that there is no time for such trivialities.

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We have relegated the silence and stillness that our souls require, to the category of luxuries only available to those who can afford them. We have decided amongst ourselves that stillness and silence belong to the indulgent ones who care more for themselves than they do for the serious work that has to be done to keep up with daily life. We find virtue in being busy, and laziness in being still.

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We share cute pictures of children hugging or ocean sunsets or old ladies smiling together, proclaiming the importance of connection, kindness, and ‘the little things’. And for a split second we believe ourselves. But before we can mindlessly swipe our thumb up the screen, our mind is back to busy; silently condemning us for scrolling instead of scooping the cat box, finishing our data entry, or running the vacuum.

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It’s a funny game we play with ourselves, and teach to our children: The more you do, the better you are. Keep doing things and taking on responsibilities and completing tasks. The more you do the better you are. Don’t worry if you’re tired, burnt out, or live in a constant state of stress. We all do that. It’s part of the game. Just keep busy, keep doing, keep going. Don’t stop.

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Eventually someone will notice how busy you are. How many tasks you’ve completed. How many responsibilities you’ve taken on. How many nights you’ve sacrificed sleep. How many virtuous things you’ve done. How well you’ve pretended to keep it together. What a pretty facade you’ve shown to the world. Someday someone will notice. Of course they will.

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Won’t they?

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Or will they be too busy being busy to notice how busy you’ve been?

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Did you ever notice that there are no awards given for Best Day Dreamer or Most Likely to Take an Afternoon Nap? Why is that? You cannot tell me that sprawling across your bed in a stream of the afternoon sun while a warm breeze tiptoes in through billowing curtains, isn’t one of the most enjoyable experiences ever. But there is no prize for Least Stressed Mom, or Fewest Fucks to Give. There is no ceremony for Best Lollygagger or Most Times Quitting Commitments That Suck.

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Some of you are a little uncomfortable reading that last one, aren’t you? “If I made a commitment I can’t quit. That’s irresponsible. People are counting on me.”

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Ok. Maybe that’s true.

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But then please don’t long for a world where you can do the things you enjoy, find the peace and calm you crave, feel the connections and support you desire, and claim that you’d have it if only you weren’t so busy. If you need to be doing and going and responsible to others, and you’re willing to do it at the cost of sacrificing your stillness and silence, don’t be forlorn that you don’t have what can only be found in the stillness and silence.

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Don’t claim that you want the peace and confidence and joy of knowing how connected and loved you are if you aren’t willing to do the very things that allow you to experience it.

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We have convinced ourselves that being busy is better. That there are responsibilities that can’t be ignored. That there are things that need our attention, and sacrifice is required. And someday we’ll slow down and take it easy and rest. Maybe when the kids are grown. Maybe when we retire. Maybe when we’re dead.

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Being busy is lazy.

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I say that with an ever so slight twinge of bitterness because I have been called lazy more times than I can count. I’m still working on leaving behind that last bit of sour taste from it. I’ll get there.

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For so very long I considered ‘Being Lazy’ a defining character trait of mine. I should add here that more often than not, the one calling me lazy was me. Of course I wasn’t the only one who said it, and I certainly wasn’t the first one who said it. I never would have considered myself lazy if the idea wasn’t presented to me first.

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Nonetheless, I say with complete conviction - Being busy is lazy.

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Argue if you want, but I won’t concede. I will, however, explain.

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I do not at all consider myself a busy person anymore. I have a full life. I do a lot of things. I work. I create. I write. I parent. I clean. I shop. I go adventuring. I hike. I cook. I read. All kinds of things.

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I also take naps. Spend hours in my hammock looking at the trees and the sky. Sit on my sofa drinking coffee in silence for half an hour before I get ready for work. Spend an entire day binging Netflix. Take breaks when I feel like it. Say No when it’s No, and yes when it’s Yes. I prioritize my peace and calm over my “responsibilities” almost every time.

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What I’ve discovered, and the reason why I truly believe Busy is Lazy, is that when I‘m doing things that feed my soul, I don’t feel busy. There’s no urgency. There’s no rush. There’s just me and the Creator and the experiences that bring me alive. There’s a calm truth and honesty to whatever I’m engaged in. No pressure. No criticism. No business. Just curiosity, exploration, freedom to just be, rather than the need to be doing something.

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And what comes from that space is Creation. Things come forth from my soul. Things that contribute to my own joy and the joy of those around me. Thoughts and ideas that I can share with others to support or guide them, which then connect us inextricably. Art comes through me in words written or meals cooked or furniture rearranged.

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Cleaning my house becomes tending to my “nido”. Being patient and kind to myself becomes as natural as breathing air. Letting go of anger and the need to control life becomes as easy as sitting on the beach with a delicious book.

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Aesthetics become relevant. Beauty becomes common. Love becomes obvious. Love for myself becomes obvious and then the love I feel towards others becomes obvious. We cannot notice how much others love and care for us when we’re too busy to recognize the love and care we have for ourselves. We. Can. Not.

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But when I was busy - constantly running from one errand to the next, juggling work, kids, IEP meetings, groceries, and the like, chronically stressed, angry, yelling at my kids, blaming the world, feeling like a victim with no ability to change things - the one thing I was not doing was creating.

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Nothing original was coming from me. I was busy doing what the world, my job, my family, my moral compass told me I should be doing. I was replicating, in my own unique flavor, the same damn shit every other woman I knew was doing. I had the kids, the bills, the stress, the lack of time to myself, the obligations, the responsibilities, the job doing something important for my community that I didn’t hate, the anxiety, the ex, and the messy house.

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I. WAS. BUSY.

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And not one crumb of originality was anywhere to be found. Not one bit of creativity. Not one drop of genuine joy. It was only ever the joy that came from checking things off my to-do list so I could feel like I was busy, because the more I did the better I was. The more someone else was likely to notice me and want to connect with me and support me. And the more they would want me to notice them, and connect with them, and support them.

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If I just kept going, eventually I would find the oasis in the desert that I was so desperate for. I was slowly dying from soul dehydration. And I was moving so fast trying to find water that I didn’t notice I was sitting on top of an entire lake of mineral rich, thirst quenching, soul hydration.

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I was busy, busy, busy. Doing, doing, doing. And I was lazy, just as lazy as every other person living their life full-out but according to someone else’s script. It’s far easier to do what’s expected of us by others, than it is to follow our own bliss. It’s much easier to allow ourselves to be consumed by the responsibilities and obligations and ought to’s dictated to us by those who’s acceptance and praise we seek, than it is to slow down and find our own path.

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But one day I chose silence over the clatter of my to-do list. I chose stillness over the shuffle of my shoulds. I chose to let the enormous bonfires that ignited from dropping balls and neglecting my obligations, burn hot and bright until they were nothing more than smoldering ash.

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And what I found in that ash was my own voice, my own desires, my own needs. I found myself. And I found the connection and support and love I had searched for through all of those years of being busy. It was always there. It was always available to me. I just had to slow down enough to find it.

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In the stillness and the silence you will first find discomfort. You will find tension and doubt. You will want to jump up screaming, “I’d rather be busy!!”, and start running in circles like you’re used to. But if you can gently convince yourself to stay there in the stillness, in the silence, eventually you will find yourself. And you will fall in love.

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Blessings & Beach Days Forever,

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Katie