I mean SERIOUSLY.
I was thrown out of whack (aka ALIGNMENT, thank you Abraham-Hicks) yesterday with a well-meant but silly email which described in part that someone was Sooooooo (and I counted, there were literally SEVEN zeros in the word “so”) busy that she couldn’t do a 30 second task for an organization she supports.
There are no doubt other reasons –– aka “What’s in it for me?” –– but in my return to NYC I am somehow deeply hit by the Glorification of Busy.
And, like a virgin fending off Dracula, I am also 100% lured into its nasty, fatal spell.
I am staying in an extraordinarily gorgeous secret lair –– complete with remotes that simultaneously lower all the blinds –– and my immediate thought was “Great –– there’s a massive desk and wi-fi … I can work around the clock doing promotion before the book launch!”
This is always going to be a part of my Type-A personality (if I understand that term at all), but I remember years ago in NYC there was a yoga teacher who felt obliged to ALWAYS be busier than you.
I, of course, took it to more extreme heights in our point-counterpoint.
She would say, “It’s just incredible. I have my first private client at 7 am and then 3 more and then my last class ends at 8:30.”
I would counter, “I’m teaching yoga on the prison bus to Rikers at 4:30 am, followed by 8 more clients, 3 workshops, an appearance on Charlie Rose, two fundraisers I have to make appearances at, and then working with Skype clients in the Philippines until midnight.”
I actually think it would be fantastic if we had some kind of busy-ness meter, a standardization of measurement so that we could decide –– once and for all –– who really is the busiest New Yorker.
And off the record, I’m pretty sure –– even though I’ve moved to San Francisco –– that I would still win.
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