A dear friend who knows me all too well just sent me a book to read. The author delves into our pervasive obsession with digital input, even to the point of addiction. I complain about teenagers on their phones, and then I take a long, hard look at myself and discover the same issues. Texting, Marco Polos, blogging, scanning for information at my fingertips. Yes, I’m there. I love it all. I’m wired.
And this seeking for input leaks into my larger life, with a drive to be continually occupied. I don’t think it’s an accident that the word “busy” sources in the Old English “besig”, meaning careful or anxious. Why this incessant activity? Am I afraid that if I stand still, I will die? At this rate, it’s a possibility! It’s no accident that “busy” rhymes with “dizzy”, “tizzy”, and “frizzy”. No one wants these words to define their life.
So how do I slow down? I think about what I might be too “busy” to notice. I give myself permission to stop moving for more than two seconds to take in the new moon, or the whippoorwill’s song, or a friend’s smiling eyes, before moving on to the next item on my agenda. It’s more of a challenge than I had expected. But these words help: “In quietness and confidence shall be your strength”. I don’t want to miss the good stuff!
