Tag Archives: unbusy

I’m not really a doer.

8 May

I often have a lot of ideas.  I’m an active imaginer and thinker.  I quickly put together different information and decide what I think should happen based on that.  But that’s usually as far as I ever get.

I probably have 20 notebooks with some, but not nearly all, of the pages scribbled on in pen and pencil.  Little lists jotted down of things I want to do or buy or think about.

I also am an avid quitter of activities.  I am not the type of person who just has to finish a book for the simple reason that I started it.  Oh, hell no.  I can very easily put a book down that I find boring or too cumbersome and never think about it again (For Whom the Bell Tolls, I’m looking at you).

Oh, and I just say no a lot.  Like to everything.  Almost always.  I seem to know a lot of people who have to work really hard to find margin/space/whatever in their lives because they often feel obligated to do certain things for this or that reason (Joe is this way, actually, sometimes); I, however, know almost immediately if I would like to do something or be involved with something and, you guessed it, usually I do not want to do whatever the thing is.  I’ve tried putting myself into new situations by trying to become involved with organizations and activities; but, so far, few things have stuck for long.

Sometimes, I feel like I’ve completely given up on trying to do things.  Sometimes, I think maybe I’m simply being what I deem as countercultural by staying unbusy.  Sometimes, I’m pretty certain it all has to do with how lazy I am.  It can be weird to not be a doer or an achiever in a culture where that seems to be the pinnacle of being.  Am I even real if I don’t care deeply about some…thing?

Well, suddenly I feel self-conscious of how that took an existential twist.  But I feel like I’m always wondering what it means to be real and when I’ll finally be real.  Am I real already?  I must be simply because I’m alive, right?  Suddenly, all those strange philosophical movements make a lot more sense to me.  Maybe all philosophers have been stay-at-home moms in their mid-twenties.  My life would suddenly make a lot more sense…