Losing Your Life to Busy

I wake up at 5 am every morning.

While it’s dark and the stars are still twinkling and the moon is bright, I light a candle and I pour myself a cup of coffee and beneath wall art that says “inhale” and “exhale,” I sit in the stillness of the pre-dawn.

I have a new job, which is why I now wake up before the sun. It’s a nonprofit job, an Americorps job; I don’t get paid much (read: like, below minimum wage), so I have a second part-time job on top of this new full-time job. Throughout the day, my inboxes fill up with my other two “jobs”— freelance work for another nonprofit and running That First Year.

I’m busy.

But I know this busyness isn’t unique to me. You’re busy, too. We all are.

I’ve had two days off in all of September, and I’ve worked several 15-hour days. Sometimes this busyness makes me feel important and needed, but really, I’m just exhausted. Exhausted because so much of my time has been claimed by obligations that I find rest difficult to come by. Time has become an enemy and I can feel the pressure on my chest every time I look at the clock: Fifteen more minutes until it’s time to get ready for work. Thirty minutes until I need to leave. Six hours until my alarm goes off and it’s time to start all over again.

My life has come to look like a marked-up agenda, each hour of the day assigned to a task. And as much as I love a good planner, it feels suffocating to live in this hour-to-hour segmented life. Because what if I lose myself to this busy, to this chaos?

I no longer have the luxury of lazy mornings and long afternoons of writing or reading in a coffee shop or any of those little joys because there is no time for such things. My life has become a race against the clock; I see it most when I am trying to do several things at once: brushing my teeth while making the bed while picking out my clothes, all because I have only five minutes left before I must leave and more tasks left to complete than five minutes can accommodate.

Even when I am resting, like right now, writing this, I still feel the tension of a to do list looming. My brain has always had trouble focusing on the present, but right now especially it seems as though it’s gone into overdrive. When at a redlight, I feel like I must be sending emails and texts. When drinking my coffee, I feel like I must finish quickly so that I can edit posts and make breakfast. When I am doing one thing, I feel the pressure—real, physical pressure—that I should be doing something else.

“There is no time! There is no time!” shriek the panicked minions in my mind. No time, no time! It’s become my frenzied refrain.

But this is not what I want. I don’t want to be racing through the weeks ahead, through my favorite season of fall like this. I want to be alive, but can you count what I’m doing right now as aliveness?

And boundaries are hard, because what are boundaries? I need both of these jobs, and they aren’t bad jobs; in fact, there is joy in the work (if I can enjoy a concert with a cute boy from One Direction at my side, IT IS NOT A BAD JOB). I also have a desire to cultivate some sort of life outside these jobs, both socially and quietly for myself. And what about cooking? And exercising? And cleaning?

Oh, and writing. I need to write too.

I just don’t know when to do all of these things. Because 24 hours suddenly seems so lacking.

“Where is the Life we have lost in living?” asked T.S. Elliot.

That is my fear—that I’ll lose my capital “L” Life to this busy living.

And so that weight in my chest presses down heavier and the tick of the clock grows louder, like the beat of the heart beneath the floorboards in Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart.

Over coffee one Saturday morning, I expressed my frustrations to my roommate, Chelsey.

“Life doesn’t ever slow down,” she reminded me. “You have to learn to find rest in the chaos.”

Rest within the chaos. Breath within the minutes. Capital “L” Life within the living.

And she’s right. There is Life to be found in this living if only I can untangle myself from the web of my to do list and the go-go-go refrain and stop long enough to acknowledge the simple joys of my day—on my morning commute, the way the fall fog burns off slowly; as I drink my coffee, the way the candle flame dances about; as I sit at my desk, a first listen to a new album’s unfamiliar notes.

Rest can be as simple as a deep breath and opened eyes to notice the quiet delights planted throughout the hours, no matter how packed those hours may be.

So I light a candle, I pour myself a cup of coffee, and in the pre-dawn darkness, beneath the wall art, I breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

FREE PRINT

Do you like free things? Us too. How about this free print of a dope J.K. Rowling quote in 3 font options? Yes, please.

Enter your email below to receive your free downloadable print!

Featured

The End of An Era: Saying Goodbye to Windrose

Hi friends,

Announcement (sounds so formal, doesn’t it?):

It's the end of an era.

I’ve decided that, after nearly 8 years of telling stories of navigating life, this season of Windrose is drawing to a close.

Even Here: Words for When You're Wandering

When I was 22 years old, I visited the desert for the first time.

A metaphorical desert, if we’re getting technical.

I was fresh out of college, starry-eyed and eager to begin my post-grad life. I had big ‘ole me-centered dreams: a shiny, brag-worthy PR job in the music industry! An apartment with an exposed brick wall that (somehow) would fit an upright piano! A committed relationship with a kind, goofy man!

I got exactly none of those things.

To summarize an entire year’s worth of emotion: I was devastated.

What is Home?

Late last night, I flew back into town after a week away, the city lights covering the Valley like a blanket of incandescent flowers. I’ve flown into Phoenix at least a dozen times at this point. Usually, I can identify a handful of landmarks, like my antenna-scarred South Mountain or the twinkling lights of the bridges spanning Tempe Town Lake.

Flying into Nashville, however, was always different.

I Don't Live Here Anymore

I recently returned to Nashville for the first time since moving to Phoenix five months ago.

Before my reunion, I often said that the word “home” could apply to both Nashville and Phoenix. Nashville is my home. Phoenix is my home. I could find that home-sweet-home feeling in both cities.

During my 8 days back, I frequented my old haunts. The brickwalled coffee shop still serves the meanest mocha in town. The hillside winery still proves to be a worthwhile spot to sip away a sunny Sunday afternoon. The hip burger joint still offers a lovely evening to dine with friends, new and old. The lime-green Mexican restaurant on the corner of Whitebridge still feels like a queso-soaked refuge.

There were many “stills,” but there were changes, too.

Why did you move?

A cardstock print sits propped against the lamp on my desk: a taupe watercolor swipe outlining a peakside Saguaro, the sun a tiny ring above. Beneath this minimalist illustration are these words in typeface: “I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.”

I happened upon this notecard-sized print on the way out of a shop last weekend, after already having completed another purchase. It was the last print of its kind in the pile. I had to have it. I returned to the cashier: “This one, too.”

You see, this verse has been a thread weaving through my story, simple words spoken by a prophet long dead, a passage of comfort I’ve returned to again and again since my pilgrimage to the desert four years ago, when I inked a cactus on my wrist.

The Good Old Days

Last week was National Margarita Day.

I did not, however, celebrate the holiday. Truthfully, I’ve yet to find THE Mexican place here in Phoenix. You know the one: gaudy decorations, cheap food, even cheaper margaritas.

But there’s a Mexican restaurant at the corner of Charlotte and Whitebridge in Nashville, TN.

You may have heard of it.

Witching Hour (or, Fighting Off Demons at 3 am with a Box Cutter)

Between the hours of 3 - 4 am, I find myself awakened by nothing in particular. The room is silent. There is no sound outside. No loud car horns. No dogs barking.

I’m upset.

I wish it was something other than just me. Then I could stop it. Nothing is to blame. It feels like moments have passed since I closed my eyes. The moments of a long dreamless sleep last about 4 hours.

10 Life Lessons This Cross-Country Move is Attempting to Teach Me

There are a few lessons life has attempted to teach me since my move — all things that I haven’t yet spiced up into a full essay, but deserve to be memorialized by my metaphorical pen nonetheless.

So I present a collection of lessons I’ve learned — and am still learning — in the last 3 months.

What Will Your Life Look Like?

Tomorrow marks 3 months.

Three months here, sharing a zip code with Saguaros.

“So how is Phoenix?” a friend asked me over the phone as I sat on my balcony beneath glowing string lights, a pour of raspberry wine in my hand. The sun was setting, painting the eastern mountains with rosy swipes of redemption.

How has Phoenix been these last three months?

What is it Trying to Tell You, if Only You’d Listen?

I went on a date recently. Two glasses of Riesling, pleasant conversation, and a perfectly amicable guy — it was an altogether fine evening.

However, I wasn’t interested in a second date.

Not because of any run-for-the-hills red flags. Not because I didn’t think he was cute. Not because we didn’t get along. I simply — wasn’t interested.

There’s no better way to explain it. No fear-based avoidance of the potential for a healthy relationship. No disdain for commitment that needs a heavy round of therapy to work through. Nothing deeper than the inner sense that a second date just wasn’t necessary.

But, I said yes to getting dinner again with him.

The Other Side of Yes

I’m a No Girl.

In many ways, this is a good thing. I’m able to confidently decline invitations that disinterest me.

“Want to go whitewater rafting?” No thank you, I’m comfy right here on the bank.

“Want to do a shot?” No thank you, I’ll take my liquor with lime juice and Triple Sec, plz.

“Want to try this carrot cake?” No thank you, Harry, I can’t eat gluten.

“Want to go to Broadway?” No thank you, I’d prefer to go to bed.

In many ways, however, being a No Girl originates less from personal boundaries and more from fear. Fear and I happen to be pretty tight; we talk on the daily. Fear has been the primary consultant for many of my life decisions, in fact.

A Song for Growth

A year ago, a friend of mine got a job at a well known tech company. He had been slogging through the interviews, and he finally got an offer. Obviously he deserved it. He was a hard worker, and his attitude for success and life was admirable to say the least. I knew he was beyond qualified.

But at the time, I was on a career path I couldn’t see myself being happy in. I had made the mistake of staying in the industry mainly for the money. Every month in the industry was a reminder of how much I did not want to stay. It created a nasty cycle of overthinking and career angst. Feelings of inadequacy and existentialism rooted themselves deep inside me. I couldn’t focus on anything and was utterly disconnected from the work I was doing.

I admit I wasn’t happy for him.

Career, LifeAlly WillisOctober 2, 2016Featured1 Comment

Losing Your Life to Busy

Related Posts

FREE PRINT

Enter your email below to receive your free downloadable print!

magazine Blog

Contact SUBMIT