Weeds of busy-ness

The weeds of busy-ness are taking over my life. Why can't I be content to "be" in life instead of constantly "doing"? It's as if I don't think my life counts unless I've got seven projects going at the same time.

This is NOT productive; this IS stressful.

I took an online test to find out my actual age (as opposed to my chronological one) and to get a prediciton for how much longer I will live, given my current lifestyle.

Bad news. If I keep going like I am, I'll be dead in less than two years.

I need to refocus on becoming a human being and retire from my merry-go-round of doing project after project after project, which does nothing more than drain me. It's not as if someone else couldn't do these things. It wouldn't even matter if these projects fell by the wayside and were left unfinished. (I'm telling you, no one would notice except me.)

Wow, that's a revelation.


Prompt: Write about the busy-ness that is taking over your life.

Why write memoir?

Every so often I feel sort of guilty about being so enchanted with writing about my life--my childhood, my religion, my heritage, my family, my values, my, my, my, and me, me, me.

However, as a race of people, we are intrigued by our history and by our personal journeys through this life. We write to preserve our experience, and we write to understand and make peace with our past, and we write to share what we've learned.

Anne Lamott writes: "There is a door we all want to walk through, and writing can help you find it and open it. Writing can give you what having a baby can give you: it can get you to start paying attention, can help you soften, can help you wake up." (Bird by Bird, 1995)


Prompt: What "door" to the past do you want to open?