The other weekend I cleaned the house, washed my hair, straightened it for the first time in a decade and then put my pjs back on. I just couldn’t find the extra energy needed to get dressed and step outside the front door.
I sat on the bed and realised that all the plans we’d made this weekend were not essential. The article research, picture hanging and networking event I’d signed myself up for in order to feel productive were not critical. I decided to try and chill for a bit and that’s when exhaustion hit me like a brick wall.
It always happens like that doesn’t it? As soon as you stop for a breather you wonder how you’ve even been running?
I’ve read a lot about the phenomenon of ‘busyness‘. How my generation, in particular, use busy as a mark of success. We even measure our sense of busy against each other like some sort of dick-slinging contest. Oh you think you’re busy with 2 kids and a start up but I’ve taken 100 flights and moved house?
I am not doubting for a minute that we don’t have busy lives – the women I know in particular take on (and kick goals) A LOT. But I am beginning to question for myself whether all the elements of my busy are essential and, if not, why I feel it’s so important to achieve them?
A bit like my diet, I know for certain that my schedule could do with some moderation. Maybe if I acted a bit more balanced everyday I wouldn’t need a weekend like this one where everything has to stop.
But my goodness it felt good to do nothing. When you’ve worked through the guilt and embraced the self-indulgence, a weekend with just the couch and Netflix is the ultimate bliss. You should totally try it!