One of the most common refrains I hear from people is how busy they are. I’d almost go so far as to say it’s the defining complaint of my generation. And it kind of makes sense to me that the rise of busyness has coincided with the accelerating pace of technology and the information overload that it has produced. More options, more access and more social media fueled FOMO than ever before has created a hyperbolic schedule-to-time ratio that more often than not leaves us exhausted and depressed.
Yet now, in the middle of the coronavirus quarantine, when logic would dictate that we should be breathing a collective sigh of relief, and embracing periods of relative quiet, I’m hearing an awful lot of complaining about not having anything to do and being stuck at home. When will this confinement end?
We’re so busy with our relationship sacrificing lifestyle and yet, when families are forced to stay at home together, somehow that’s a burden. We’re quick to complain about being busy and then just as quick to complain about not? Which is it?
This sounds more like an addiction to me. One characteristic of an addict is that they both hate and crave the thing they’re addicted to. They think they control the thing, but in realty, the thing controls the addict.
Perhaps the coronavirus is actually a gift. No, of course it’s certainly not for those who have contracted it or those who are treating it. But for those who’s schedules are upended by it, perhaps there’s a lesson that we need to learn.
Busyness is not a virtue, although its often dished out like one. Schedules are worn like status symbols. But our busyness does not lead to connection, creativity, compassion or contentment. Instead it’s a psychoactive drug that blinds us to effectiveness through activity.
Wouldn’t it be ironic if it turns out that a virus is just the detox that we need?