I dread this word.
I hear it all the time. I think it all the time: I’m busy.
But really, am I? I’ve got time to blog and read others. I’ve got time to daydream about future races, future travels, future knitting projects. I’ve got time for a daily dose of TV, a few hours of reading a week, lots of running, and knitting.
I don’t have to make my own soap, plow the back 40, school my own children, sew my own clothing, walk anywhere I don’t want to walk to, and somehow, I think of myself as ‘busy.’
Maybe ‘busy’ is a badge of honor? Like, if you’re not busy, there must be something wrong?
Next Tuesday is my wedding anniversary. The Mister and I typically celebrate with a nice dinner out. We don’t necessarily exchange gifts (that practice came to screeching halt after he bought me a humidifier in year 3). Year 14, this is what happened (scroll down a bit–this is my old defunct blog). This year is #19. Nineteen is a long time. Nineteen deserves some recognition. Nineteen should have a gift. And it finally came to me yesterday what that gift will be. The first third (yes, my gifts typically involves processes) is done. But now I’m wondering if I’m too busy (argh!) to complete it. Because the first third is the easy part. But the cleverness depends on the execution of parts 2 and 3.
I am on a mission to un-busy myself. And I may have to rely on the Things for their help.