Are You Merely “Busy?”
Most mornings begin with someone in the office asking, “How are you this morning?” Like I can give any meaningful answer at 8:05 a.m., before a single cup of coffee, other than “I’m breathing.” Or “I’m keeping on keeping on.” What I really, men, though, is “more or less the same as yesterday.” It’s less genuine concern and more a warm-up exercise for the day, like a morning stretch but now in conversation. Then come the follow-ups: “How was your night?” and “What’s on the agenda today?” A little verbal housekeeping before the work day begins.
That happened in offices around the world. And then there was a cosmic a shift. Increasingly, people started to go straight to the one-word answer that stops any further inquiry dead in its tracks: “Busy.” And not just in the mornings. All day long I hear it, deployed like a kind of conversational pepper spray. Hopefully it stings just enough to keep people at a distance.
We say “busy” the way someone on TV might casually mention their yacht; half humble, half boast. It’s a medal we’ve pinned on ourselves, proof that we matter, that people expect things of us, that our calendars are straining under the weight of our importance. And of course, it very conveniently prevents anyone from asking follow-up questions, which is ideal if what you’re actually doing is spending large stretches of time scrolling through doom, gloom, or gluten-free recipes for family dinners.
If we unpacked what we’re actually busy doing, half of it would dissolve like a Kleenex in the rain. Because scrolling isn’t “busy.” Streaming isn’t “busy.” Rearranging apps on your phone definitely isn’t “busy.” Mostly it’s “bored,” dressed up in the guise of controlling our lives.
I’ve stopped saying I’m busy. I say my life is “full.” It’s a bit like describing my wife’s suitcase that won’t zip shut, not necessarily full of things she’s going to use, certainly more than she will need, but definitely full of something. Because, honestly, who among us fully understands what we’re filling our hours with? Or why.
This morning, when someone tossed me the standard “How are ya?” I found myself replying, “I’ve got things I need to do, things I should do, and things I want to do and they are aall fighting for attention.” Which is true. We all have that daily battle: the work project you need to finish; the gym you should go to; the book you want to keep reading but keep forgetting exists because your phone keeps stealing your attention like a jealous toddler.
And yet I look at myself and the end of the day, and there I am…scrolling and streaming.
Need-should-want could keep us occupied for a lifetime. That alone should be enough to make a life feel full. So why does boredom creep in like it owns the place? Why does the path of least resistance (phones, shows, mindless digital grazing) win so easily?
I read something from Henri Nouwen recently that stuck with me. He said, “There is a great difference between successfulness and fruitfulness.” Success is measurable. Tasks ticked off, things achieved, gold stars earned. Fruitfulness, though, is about meaning, not metrics. It’s about putting something into the world that nourishes, however small or humble.
A tree doesn’t grow fruit so other trees will admire it. It doesn’t publish productivity stats or brag about ROI. It just produces something that feeds someone else. Quietly. Steadily. Without a single performance review.
So I’ve been thinking… maybe what I need isn’t more successful days. Maybe I need more fruitful ones. Fewer hours spent being “busy;” more hours spent being worthwhile.
I don’t know how your day looks. But perhaps don’t say “busy.” Call it “full.” And then, if you’re feeling brave, shift a bit of that fullness toward something fruitful. Something that leaves a mark. Something you can point to at the end of the day and say, “That? That meant something.”
