Busyness vs. Pondering

I'm finding that while being busy can sometimes be overwhelming, that's not where my biggest issues shine through. I tend to thrive on busy. Chaos drives me crazy and yet invigorates me. Let's face it, I like to be needed. (My friends who try to work themselves out of a job are operating so far from my comfort zone...if that was my plan I would have to have a new job lined up to eventually work myself out of before even considering working myself out of a current job.) This is a flaw and a shortcoming that I am very aware of. Jesus and I are having some talks...all will be well...I guess...

My problem (apart from all of the above...) is that when I'm not busy I think. And thinking makes me remember. And remembering makes me break. I can spend an evening surrounded by friends and so thankful for the people that I do have, and as soon as they are gone I crumble into a puddle of tears because of who is missing.

A favorite children's book of mine has always been "The Phantom Tollbooth" by Norton Juster. If you haven't read it and have an upper elementary kid that you love, read it together and get lost in the land that Juster created. I used to want to move there...but I digress.  Today, I was chatting with one of my 7th graders about how you can tell a lot about a book by the first page, and then I proceeded to read her the first page of The Phantom Tollbooth. (Bear with me...I swear I have a point.) As I finished reading, she asked if she could go to the library to check it out.  I love hooking kids on books that I've been hooked on...sharing worlds with them that I love.  Let me share that first page with you here:

Chapter 1. Milo

There was once a boy named Milo who didn't know what to do with himself — not just sometimes, but always.

When he was in school he longed to be out, and when he was out he longed to be in. On the way he thought about coming home, and coming home he thought about going. Wherever he was he wished he were somewhere else, and when he got there he wondered why he'd bothered. Nothing really interested him — least of all the things that should have.

"It seems to me that almost everything is a waste of time," he remarked one day as he walked dejectedly home from school. "I can't see the point in learning to solve useless problems, or subtracting turnips from turnips, or knowing where Ethiopia is or how to spell February." And, since no one bothered to explain otherwise, he regarded the process of seeking knowledge as the greatest waste of time of all.

As he and his unhappy thoughts hurried along (for while he was never anxious to be where he was going, he liked to get there as quickly as possible) it seemed a great wonder that the world, which was so large, could sometimes feel so small and empty.

"And worst of all," he continued sadly, "there's nothing for me to do, nowhere I'd care to go, and hardly anything worth seeing." He punctuated this last thought with such a deep sigh that a house sparrow singing nearby stopped and rushed home to be with his family.

Until today, I've never read the book thinking that I could at all relate to Milo. I've always thought that I am more like Tock or the Mathemagician or the Which Witch...someone who was a part of the story to help him learn because they already had been through it. I always thought of myself as somewhat who is guiding others through to the other side of the doldrums, making like exciting and helping them see the hope.

But right now, I feel more like Milo.

"As he and his unhappy thoughts hurried along (for while he was never anxious to be where he was going, he liked to get there as quickly as possible) it seemed a great wonder that the world, which was so large, could sometimes feel so small and empty."

Thankfully I'm not in a 24/7 Milo state, but there are days (or really more like moments) where I get lost in the emptiness and frustration. Times where I don't care to know where somewhere is or why it is the way it is.

And maybe this is why I've allowed myself to get back so comfortably into the rut of busyness. When I'm busy I forget that I'm in the doldrums...I work myself up to a speed where I can plaster back on my happy face and go about business as expected.  And there are benefits to this, for sure.

But maybe it's time to slow down. To let some of the sorrow out. To mourn. To cry. To let some new ideas form and new joys materialize.

That said, I also don't want to be someone who is known to let out "such a deep sigh that a house sparrow singing nearby stopped and rushed home to be with his family." May that never be said of me...

For now, I'm going to reread an old favorite...I'll let my brain process tomorrow...maybe...