I have decided that I will no longer be busy.
I am not quitting my job, not pulling my children out of activities, not resorting to packaged food.
I have a very full life, but busy is a state of mind. One that is no longer helpful to me.
I do not need to worry about what has just passed or fret about what is next.
Each moment holds more than enough to fill me.
I think that I was once organized. I have files, and books on shelves, and toys in bins.
But now I also have school pictures from the last three years interleaved with various other keepsakes in a shelf on my desk, and most of my papers are in a stack that will eventually find its way into my neat files.
The books I actually read are scattered around my desk and bed. I think that I have room on my shelves for nearly all of them, especially if I use that extra space between the top of the books and the next shelf up.
And I don’t want to talk about the toys. They are not my toys after all.