I’m Terribly Busy (Doing Absolutely Nothing for Anyone Else)
When your entire existence has been making other people happy, quitting the show can induce panic. Here’s why I did it anyway.
Note: You won’t find any "how-to" advice or ten-step life hacks here. I’m not here to tell you how to fix your life. I simply share my own thoughts, ideas, healing and creative journey. Take whatever works for you, and leave the rest.
I’m terribly busy.
So busy I don’t have time to socialize. To grab a bite to eat. To shoot the shit or take an extra phone call.
I’m terribly busy, focusing absolutely all of my energy on me.
This is new territory.
I had a slow morning, making a cup of tea. Saying, “Good morning, Millie!” with hugs and snuggles, the whole lot. It’s our morning ritual. I checked a few work things, then headed out for a neighborhood walk. Getting some sun in our eyes to start the cortisol countdown clock.
I have work commitments I show up for, but everything else is me, me, me.
I’m halfway through painting the deck. I covered my skylights yesterday to keep the house cool in the summer desert heat. I have a coat of paint I’m planning to put on the side of the house in the next few days. I checked on the new fruit trees I’ve planted in the yard and gave them some worm tea. (I didn’t realize how mad over it Millie would be!)
Sometimes I think, “I should post an update,” or share a few extra words. My friend from the coast texts every few days: “When are you going to let me take you out to dinner? I got a new car, I’ll meet or come get you. Name the place, anywhere, my treat.”
But I started a new art project yesterday instead. Cleaned it up, ready for a coat of paint. On top of learning how to make a mirror using silver leaf.
It’s a very strange thing. Some moments I feel guilty. “I should do XYZ for this person.” But I don’t, and after a little while, I forget it. I let the guilt float away, and replace it with my own needs again.
When your entire existence has always been making sure other people are happy first—being the endless entertainment—quitting the show can induce some panic.
But I pushed through it. I rearranged my bedroom and made myself space for a private yoga studio. Hung a few more plants. Hung Jobi’s portrait up in a more focal place. I no longer take my phone with me to the bathroom, or on walks.
The orchid I repotted is finally sprouting a new leg. For the first time, Mr. Bones says, “Yes, I’m happy!”
A few weeks ago, I said out loud:
"No, I want to live alone. I want my alone time, my me time. I need to be able to hear myself think and rhyme. I’ve spent forty years giving my time and energy to people who chose to do nothing productive with it, just waste mine. The next forty is for my own climb."
The wrong people will leave when you stop bleeding for them all the time. Not to worry, it all works out fine.
I spent a solid hiatus from creating this past season. It’ll come to an end soon enough; I feel myself yearning again. But I realized my hesitation came from the wrong motivations. I kept trying to approach art from the perspective of “for other people’s hearts,” when it’s only my own that matters.
I think I might be ready to start, again.
I watch lizards crawl from hiding spots, doing pushups on warm, sun-baked rocks. Reach for an extension cord hiding a young rattlesnake. Watch a wild rabbit across the yard, wide awake. Pleasantly warm, so I sit out in the air all day. Some cells still fight for a busier life, the old ways. But am I not living like a millionaire, finally free? All of my time belongs to me. How many people would wish for the same, jealously?
What is one thing you’ve had to put down or step away from in order to finally focus on yourself? Let me know in the comments.