I have been reaching out to a few friends lately, from my old corporate world. Just asking how they are, organizing a get together, nothing professional. Friends whom I know well enough for them to tell me to (kindly) fuck off if they are too busy to chat.
And they are — very busy. I don’t mind them telling me off, on the contrary, I understand too well. I have been there. I remember those days, constantly juggling between 2 phone calls, 5 chatboxes and 10 emails at the same time, not having the time for anything more, certainly not anything personal, not even the bathroom. It was a race. Against time, myself, my life.
While I know some of these friends really love what they do, I wonder if they enjoy being that busy. I know I didn’t. For almost a decade preceding my grand escape, my sentence on repeat was: I am too busy. Always thinking it would get better after that deal, or that presentation, or that holiday. It never did, of course. Almost a decade — almost a decade!
I don’t want to sound ungrateful. Those years made me stronger and my bank account thicker. We wouldn’t have been able to take time off and travel if it hadn’t been for those savings. But would we have needed to take off if it hadn’t been for those hectic years?
It doesn’t mean that I am idle now. If anything, I am even more demanding with the way I use my time — because I know its true value. The difference is that I take it, to do the things I want, on my terms.
I know this might not be sustainable in the long run. Whatever my next professional choices are, I will have to deal with people at some point — I will inevitably have to make compromises. What I pledge to do though, is to remember these days, the days I took to live and be me.
Listen to my beating heart to find my rhythm, listen to my breathing to set my own pace.
