Why I'm Not Busy Anymore

Let’s get clear about something right now: my calendar is massively full right now. There’s a lot on my plate. But I’ve started refusing to say I’m busy. “Why,” you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. There are two reasons.

I suppose I should first explain what brought about this shift for me. Don’t worry, it’s connected to my reasons for changing. Whenever anyone has asked me recently how I’m doing, I have the same standard response: I’m busy. No doubt this has been my reply for a long time, but it is only lately that I’ve noticed that “busy” is my default answer. As I’ve thought about this, I’ve realized it’s a huge problem that my answer isn’t an answer at all.

First of all, I’m always busy. While I have seasons that are more or less full than others, I can always describe my plate as full and my calendar as packed. Doesn’t that therefore mean that “busy” equals “normal” in my life? If busy is the state I’m constantly in, that’s actually just my usual. Everyone I know describes themselves as busy, and no doubt that’s true; but if we are ALL ALWAYS busy, I think we need to rethink how we talk about it. To me, “busy” implies “moreso than normal.” So I’m going to stop telling people I’m busy when really, I’m just living my usual full life.

Second, when people ask me how I’m doing, I reply with what I’m doing. They want to know how I am and respond by telling them that my calendar is full? What’s up with that? It’s not to impress them or convince them that I’m important; I’m positive that’s not the reason. But really, there’s something wrong with my communication and my priorities when my closest friends ask how I am and I essentially tell them what I’m doing.

Who I am is not defined by what I do, and my language needs to reflect that. So I hereby declare that I am no longer busy. I am normal, and next time you see me, you should ask how I’m doing. 

Solitude at Altitude

A little over a month ago, I spent a week in Colorado. There are more than 50 peaks in Colorado higher than 14,000 feet, and it's my goal to climb half of them. Most of them aren't particularly difficult hikes, but when you get up that high it's brutally hard to breathe; getting to the top becomes less about your physical ability and more about your mental commitment to arriving. 

On August 22, I hit the trail a few minutes before six a.m. with the intention of making it to the top of three peaks. They're all part of the same range, so summiting all three in a day is attainable, but it requires around 3,500 feet of elevation change. 

The "warm up" summit, Mt. Democrat, took me about an hour forty-five and turned out to be the easiest part of the day. The stretch between Democrat and Mt. Lincoln (with a brief stop at Mt. Cameron's summit) had 35 mile an hour winds pushing me towards a 1,000 foot drop off on either side. But the cold and the wind were well worth it when I arrived at the peak of Mt. Lincoln and had a profound moment.

I had the peak to myself for ten minutes and it was a unique experience. At 14,286 feet you feel like you can see the whole world spread out before you. It was perfectly peaceful, and I was completely alone. In that moment, it seemed to me that I was solitary in the world, and the whole of creation was designed and wrought together solely for me. I wonder if it’s possible to capture such a feeling. Because no doubt, in that moment, God felt the same about me. We were alone together. For an instant, I truly understood that I am important enough for creation to exist; I’m that valuable. It was a brief flash and then gone, but I was left with the aftermath of a startling realization of what it means to be weaved into God’s story and what a grand, larger than life tale He’s telling.