I hate when I hear someone say to me, “I know things have been busy for you.”
The statement shows I’ve let something slip.
When someone tells me I seem busy, it reveals (1) I’ve talked about myself too much, or (2) I’ve shown (often visibly) that I’m unhappy with what I’m working on. Friends, family, or co-workers might not be trying to indict me, but it is an indictment nonetheless.
And I bet you, dear reader, have said the same thing to someone or had it said about you. “It’s a busy season” feels like a badge of honor, but it is a crown of shame.
Why Are We Busy?
Eugene Peterson, in The Contemplative Pastor, explained why we are too busy. He critiques himself but applies it broadly to other leaders.
I am busy because I am vain. I want to appear important. Significant. What better way than to be busy? The incredible hours, the crowded schedule, and the heavy demands on my time are proof to myself—and to all who will notice—that I am important. If I go into a doctor’s office and find there’s no one waiting, and I see through a half-open door the doctor reading a book, I wonder if he’s any good. (27-28)
Busyness makes us feel important to ourselves and—we hope—to those around us.
His second reason:
I am busy because I am lazy. I indolently let others decide what I will do instead of resolutely deciding myself. I let people who do not understand the work of the pastor write the agenda for my day’s work because I am too slipshod to write it myself. (28)
Wait a second. Lazy people can’t be busy. Only important people are, right? Except that the undisciplined and lazy leader (1) has to fill his or her schedule last minute and (2) lets others command more time than they should.
Ouch. Vanity and laziness in competing paragraphs.
Situational Laziness
People who know me think I’m disciplined or structured, but I’ve preferred to rely on the last minute. I remember spending an entire night finishing up a paper at my friend’s dorm. As I left campus, the academic dean was arriving. We exchanged pleasantries. He went to his office. I went home.
A friend of mine has a line: If you wait until the last minute, it only takes a minute. I’d like it tattooed on my forehead—in reverse so I can read it in a mirror.
I recall the time I double (maybe triple?) booked myself. As a young leader, I said yes to everything and assumed my last-minute brain could hold onto all of it. Then my phone rang with someone asking where I was.
The problem: I was in Texas with family, and that someone was in Louisiana.
“Crap. I think I need to start using a calendar.”
I started using a calendar but didn’t know what to do with it. It helped manage the day, but it didn’t wrangle what was going on underneath.
As a young pastor, I’d complain that I “didn’t know what I was supposed to be doing.” I told my boss this all the time.
He made me write down everything that I did or thought I was supposed to do, then prioritize it and focus on the top of the list.
I sat in my house with my responsibilities written out on pieces of paper, and I moved them around until I felt good enough.
Then, I basically ignored them. I preferred staying vague.
The Fear of Conviction-Driven Priorities
When we actually start to live by convictions on what must be done, we enter into no man’s land. We get latent fear that (1) we picked the wrong things or (2) we’ll let someone down.
Both might be true, but you won’t know until you try. And if you do it wrong, you can adjust.
Most weeks, I’m talking with someone on a video call or at a coffee shop somewhere, and they talk about their pace of life, their nonstop weeks, the 50, 60, 70 hours they’re putting in to get a project done. They might show me their calendar and how full it is. They know it is insane, but they also don’t know how to stop.
“It’s a busy season.”
When I’m feeling bold—which isn’t always—I’ll say something like, “Yeah, but you chose this.” (For context: I’m often speaking with folks who have some level of control over their days.)
When you start to actually think about what matters most and take some control over how you spend your days, anxiety might follow. The fear of being wrong looms large. It’s the vanity showing up.
So we choose busyness. Because if we’re busy, at least no one will think we are idle.
Busyness isn’t a calendar problem; it’s a heart problem.
Finding What Matters
I also know people who have what anyone would call a busy day, and they are at ease—poised, calm, joyful. They’re annoying because they make it look so easy—like figure skaters.
What’s the trick?
They’ve settled into what matters most.
For the Christian, Jesus says it plainly.
But seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things will be added to you. (Matt 6:33)
This comes right after talking to a large group of folks—largely everyday workers—about anxiety over life and making ends meet.
And we just go filling our calendars—be it vanity or laziness—because we think that's where value is. We know better.
I have a friend that I get to meet with often. He can get stressed, like anyone else, but is rarely frazzled. During what anyone would call a “busy season” for him and his company, I wanted to know why he wasn’t stressed.
“Because I know what’s most important. And this job is at best third on my list.”1
We were having this conversation in a Chipotle. Quote approximated. :-)
The tyranny of the urgent. This resonates with me on so many levels and in all the ways you describe.