Never Too Busy
I'm home today with two sick little girls, my son is off to school, and I can count on one hand the hours of sleep I've had in the last 24. My laundry is piled as tall as my head, and I have no idea what I'm going to feed anyone for dinner tonight. And yet, here I am, pounding out words. Because for some strange reason, this act of forming words and setting them against a page feels necessary.
The above list is no more dramatic than any one else's list. "Busy" is the most common (and accurate) response to a question regarding wellbeing. And so, just to be clear, I didn't lay all that out there to earn bragging rights for the day. Hardly. Rather, to throw a word of encouragement into the void.
Because despite 'the list,' I'm writing. —This blog post, and later revisions on my book. Why? We fill our hours and our hearts with the things we love.
I can't tell you the number of times I look back and want to yell at my younger self for all of the leisurely hours I frittered away when I could have been writing. And yet, if I had those hours back again, I'd probably waste a good number of them. Because at the time, they seemed endless. And we only value that which we have little of.
I value the stash of dark chocolate hidden tucked in the back of my cupboard. I value the last drops of a carmel latte. I value the hours my baby sleeps over the course of the night. I value uninterrupted conversations I have with my husband. I value my kids' attention spans during story time. And I value time to write.
This new year I made a point of avoiding resolutions, but I did commit to making better use of my time. And I have already seen the benefits of rearranging some of my priorities. You can't multiply time, unfortunately. But you can re-order it. And for me, this means I'm never too busy to write.