"Stop the glorification of busy"

My husband sometimes (very kindly) remarks that I am “wasting time” on Pinterest.  It’s true, the website can sometimes be like Facebook – a black hole that sucks you into nothingness.  However, it can also prove quite useful.  I haven’t been on Pinterest that long, and already is has resulted in the (successful) making of homemade yogurt, bread, cute handprint paintings and several new scrumptious meals.  This doesn’t include the many other ideas that are waiting for me…

But, perhaps the best thing I’ve seen on Pinterest is the words quoted in this post’s title:  “Stop the glorification of busy”.  I admit, I find it a bit ironic that the words have been pinned several times – on a website that makes you feel a bit guilty if you aren’t making everything that goes on your table homemade and from scratch, your house isn’t full of DIY perfection, amazing décor, and practical storage solutions and your kids days aren’t perfectly scheduled with developmentally appropriate activities and craft time.  Pinterest, it could be argued, it a site that inspires busyness.  But, ironic or not, it is where I stumbled upon these few words that have settled deep into my heart.

I glorify business.  I absolutely do.  I think it’s a product of the culture we’re living in.  I remember being in college and “competing” about who was more exhausted, who had the most work to do, and whose extracurricular activity list was that longest.  Of course, it wasn’t an actual competition, but the conversation went something like this:

Me:  “I’m so tired.  I didn’t get to bed until after 2am last night.”

Friend: “I was up until 4.”

Me:  “It’s a really rough week, I have two papers due and an exam.”

Friend:  “I have two papers and two exams.”

Me:  “Well, I also have small group I’m leading this week, and a meeting to go to, plus volunteering…”

You get the point.  These conversations happened all. the. time.  And, guilty as anyone, I participated. 

Even still, it continues.  People seem to feel more important and significant when they have full planners and rattle of countless activities.   I’ve had people share that they are stressed from the things on their plate but they liked being able to say “I do this and this and this.”  Please don’t think I am speaking condemningly, as if I am Miss High and Mighty Above this Issue.  I’m not.  Though, currently, I have the opposite problem.

I have jokingly told many people I was born in the wrong time period.  I love staying home with my son, focusing on our family and home.  I love that, at one point in history, that was the expectation for women and totally accepted (and the economy didn’t dictate the need/push for the two-income home).  I would have done well in that time.

Now, I struggle with “is what I’m doing enough?”.  I CONSTANTLY look at moms who are, in addition to staying home all day with their children, running successful businesses from their homes, writing books, coaching, mentoring, etc.  I’m content not having those things on my plate, but often feel like my life and role isn’t valuable because I’m not “doing enough”.

It’s largely the result of believing the lie – buying into the glorification of busy.  Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy having things to do – but I want them to be things like spontaneously taking Eli to the park because it’s a beautiful day, reading for a little longer than normal, having a home that runs smoothly because I have the time to tend to it.   I guess I just want to be busy about the RIGHT things (for me) and not be busy for busys sake (or because I feel like I need to be). 

Being busier doesn’t make us more significant, better or glamorous.  For me, when I get too busy, I tend to become a stressed out mess of a human being (it’s true, ask my husband).  So, I am going to try to be careful about the things I do – choosing wisely where to devote my time.  I will stop the glorification on busy in my life.

So now, instead of getting back on Pinterest and figure out what else I need to do to be more awesome - I think I’ll just go to sleep.