Busy

Take off the armor of busy,

sit in a chair with no work,

and wait to see what happens.

If you can stick it out,

the busy will stop its chatter,

and you will be able to hear

the sound of clarity rising

with penetrating stillness.

In Zen they call this practice

“letting the mud settle.”

___________________________________________________

We wear busyness like a badge, mistake urgency for meaning, and wield opinions like a sword. But all this is noisy evasion. Real life begins in the silence we avoid.

___________________________________________________

Calendar density is the new industriousness.

“I’m so busy,” we say, with the restrained smile of someone caught doing good. Our watches vibrate, our tabs proliferate, our message icons sprout little red numbers like badges of honor. We mistake a humming whirl of activity for a worthwhile life.

Busyness is useful camouflage. If you are constantly moving, you don't have to ask where you’re going. You can fill every empty ten‑minute slot with micro‑tasks and never have to face the question that only pops up when you are quiet: *What am I avoiding?* We project efficiency the way actors project to the back row— making larger-than-life gestures because we’re terrified of being seen up close. The color‑blocked and time-segmented calendar stands in for a conscience.

On top of that, there is constant reinforcement that everything is urgent. Every subject line is marked with exclamation points or flags, or “ASAP” or “Last Chance, “ or “Final Notice.” When every next event is a five-alarm fire, there is no downtime to recharge. Haste fills up the space needed for judgment. In a stampede, there is little chance of making a rational decision.

Of course, there are true emergencies. A child crying at 3 a.m. is more urgent than a misfiring marketing funnel. A friend at the end of his rope needs more help than your calendar link. But most of what drives us isn’t necessity; it’s the fear of what we’ll hear when the noise stops. False urgency is a kindness to the cowardly part of us: it spares us from having to think.

And when the noise dims, we deploy one final force field: opinions. If busyness hides us from ourselves and urgency hurries us past ourselves, opinions protect us against everyone else. The hot‑take is a prophylactic. If I am always speaking, no one else can speak up against me. If I post faster than I can think, the timeline will speed me past the need to revise. The algorithm applauds swiftness, not second thoughts. Fast, opinionated speech is armor we strap on every morning: visible, clangorous, empty—and reassuringly impenetrable.

The three taken together form a closed loop. Busyness produces urgency; urgency justifies half‑made opinions; opinions keep us busy defending them. From the outside it looks like engagement, even diligence. You “reply promptly,” you “stay informed,” you “take a stand.” But on the inside, there is nothing but the inconsequential satisfaction of ticking boxes off your checklist.

This is not just an an ailment of office culture. Students fill their days with extracurriculars and side hustles; caregivers stack errands until they collapse into bed; retirees commit to so many committees that they never sit in contemplation with their own thoughts. Modern academics, with Mr. Casaubon-like levels of evasion, do research endlessly as a substitute for facing the blank page. Religious devotion can become an empty ritual that keeps us stuck in our unenlightened state. The same dodge wears many different costumes.

What is the alternative? It’s a practice of unspectacular courage: pausing long enough to feel time slipping away. This is risky, because questions will arise. What have I promised, but never delivered? Whom am I avoiding? What would have to change if I stopped running?

Unclaimed minutes of reflective pausing allow judgment to sprout again, setting the buds of a renewed sense of responsibility. Paying attention to yourself reminds you that paying attention is the gentle root of love—which is, in turn, the generator of all life’s blessings. No metric we currently track will reward you for this. No app gives out badges for facing reality by making yourself stop the treadmill for a few moments.

But the world is refreshed and renewed in those paused intervals. So stop the headlong flight. Sit down in a comfortable chair in a quiet room with a question. Face your life without armor at last.