I’ve been thinking a lot about time lately; struggling with it in some ways. And oddly, it’s not because I don’t have enough of it or feel like I’m on some endless treadmill; rather, just the opposite!

I find myself uncomfortable with, even avoiding, the spaciousness of time.

I’m a do-er. Super task-oriented. Motivated by efficiency. Profoundly satisfied by getting all my to-do’s checked off on a daily basis (and as quickly as possible). And I’m quite good at this! I get a lot done in a relatively short amount of time. So, to slow down, to stop working, to not take on one more thing just because I can, feels not only frivolous and irresponsible, but damn-near impossible.

When I ask myself why, I don’t have to search very far to find the answer.

Underneath my busy-ness, my schedule, my constant doing, is a deeply ingrained belief: my value and worth are determined by how efficient and productive I am.

I’m guessing it’s not just me.

A few questions:

  • How do you feel about yourself when, at the end of the day, you’ve not checked everything off your list?
  • What emotions show up when you look at the still-unanswered emails sitting in your inbox?
  • What is your mood when you get up in the morning to a kitchen that was not cleaned the night before?
  • What is your response to the latest post on Instagram that tells you it’s not only possible, but damn-near required that you accomplish more, earn more, be more — and all available to you if only you hustle harder (and buy the program that will teach you exactly how to do so)?
  • What would your mother say if you slacked off or took a sick day or gave yourself a break from your endless inventory of tasks and to-do’s? (I know: what your mother might say is not really relevant. But you do know her answer, don’t you?)