In our society today, most people are busy most of the time. I’m cool with that. What grates my carrot, however, is when folk see busyness as a measure of your importance; when they determine their worth – and that of others – based on what they do. Or don’t. I’ve had more than one quiet season this year: times of transition where I felt myself to be at a crossroad. I was never bored, but I was certainly not sprinting from one thrillingly important thing to another. I went for walks with the older of my sisters. I hung up the washing for my mom and took it down. I went with my family to visit people in our congregation. I practised my music and talked trash (or surprisingly deep stuff) with my youngest sister. Sometimes the quiet times are the hardest. One’s inner critic, as my friend puts it, becomes very harsh. Am I doing enough? Does any of this matter? Do I really matter? For my birthday this year, a dear fri...
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