My friend Jack has been telling me for a couple of years that only about 20% of what we do really needs to get done. The other 80% is just busywork. The problem is knowing which 20% is the part that matters.
Jack's advice has not quite been believable until recently. My busyness is important. All 100% of it. Perhaps 10% could be left undone, but that extra 10% is what sets me apart, gives me my edge. I've never been afraid of hard work or long hours.
10% I can accept, even if I do find a way to justify it, but 80%? That would mean MOST of what I spend my time being busy with is really unnecessary. What would it mean if that were true?
I was interviewed by a reporter recently and he asked what motivates me. I answered without hesitation. Fear. For most of my life fear has chased me out of bed each morning and sent me scrambling to stay ahead of the growing wave of "things to do". Like a surfer, I've ridden that wave of busyness, exhilarated by its power and immenseness and all the while terrified that it will buckle and come crashing down upon my head.
There seems always far more to do than could ever be done. My fear of not keeping up, and my satisfaction at being able to check something off my list, provides the motivation for my daily churn.
My constant busyness allows for no experience of rest, save for the total exhaustion I feel at the end of each day. There is little room for spontaneity or reflection and even less for miracle or delight.
And as the speed of my busyness intensifies, the world around me begins to blur. Lives that move at a slower pace than mine begin to lose focus. Lives not scheduled on my calendar, their very existence begins to fade.
What would it mean if all this were just busywork? What would it mean indeed?
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