Busyness as an Antidote to Existential Dread

How do we combat this “emptiness,” this lurking sense that without our busyness—without being able to point to an impressive life of endless activity—we risk a life of little or no value?

Many of us are extremely busy, stretching ourselves razor thin and fulfilling our various obligations: tending to our jobs, families, and children, addressing the infinite list of errands and to-dos, scheduling time for exercise, friends, entertainment, bills, volunteer work, etc. The list goes on. Endlessly.

Our techno-corporate milieu has helped fuel this increasingly widespread condition known as busyness. The ease with which we can connect to the world—be it to our work emails or social media relationships—allows us to be permanently “plugged in.” We can get away from the crowd and commotion of our lives physically to seek rest, sure, but not without resisting the urge to pick up our phones.

There is a great Corona commercial from several years back. The commercial begins with a shot of a crystal blue ocean. The camera pulls back to reveal a woman reclining comfortably in a beach chair. To her left, and mostly off camera, a man throws stones into the ocean, leisurely skipping rocks on an afternoon in some coastal paradise. We’re left with only the lull of the ocean and the soft splashing of rocks dancing on the water’s surface. Suddenly we’re interrupted by the buzz of a phone. The man, after a moment’s hesitation, picks up the disruptive device and hurls it into the ocean. He watches it skip a few times before it disappears under the blue.

If only…

The New York Times article “The Busy Trap” by Tim Kreider explains that our “busyness” often serves as a euphemism for “exhaustion.” We’ve become so busy with keeping ourselves busy—incurring an endless list of tasks and unchecked boxes—that we’re drained, restless, and, well, exhausted. The article continues, claiming that “busyness,” despite the temptation to believe it’s been forcefully hoisted upon our shoulders is a condition of life we’ve opted for:

“The present hysteria is not a necessary or inevitable condition of life; it’s something we’ve chosen, if only by our acquiescence to it.”

The article continues to expose the impetus of choosing such a depleting way of life:

“Busyness serves as a kind of existential reassurance, a hedge against emptiness; obviously your life cannot possibly be silly or trivial or meaningless if you are so busy, completely booked, in demand every hour of the day.”

And so we are left wondering how to combat this “emptiness,” this lurking sense that without our busyness—without being able to point to an impressive life of endless activity—we risk a life of little or no value.

Christianity speaks of the inestimable worth of human life not because of what it does—or even has the potential to do—but because it is made in the image and likeness of God. We are valuable and of worth simply because God says so with words that manifest reality. If we allow the premise, admittedly no small article of belief, then it clashes with the subconscious belief that our actions, in the end, are what make us worthy. To use the language of Kreider’s article, we rely on our actions to provide “existential reassurance” that we are worthy, important, not a waste of energy on this cosmic rock careening through the void. We rely on and desperately need a frenzy of activity—busyness—to provide reassurance to us that we have a purpose.

We can sit here all day and claim we’re loved without doing anything, and yet, we still need to do stuff. We have to do laundry, make a living, and clean up after ourselves. You know, a lot of ordinary and mundane stuff. I think, therefore, combatting a mindset of busyness isn’t always a matter of doing less stuff (although it can be that, too), but of understanding that the things we do—our actions—don’t ground who we are but actually reveal it. Rather than allow our activity to be the ultimate gauge of our souls they can reflect our souls. Thomas Merton, in his highly meditative and sagacious work No Man Is An Island, explores this idea:

“My soul can also reflect itself in the mirror of its own activity. But what is seen in the mirror is only a reflection of who I am, not my true being. The mirror of words and actions only partly manifests my being.”

Merton recognizes the value of actions but the whole of a soul’s essence is not based on its actions. We can be misled to look for proof of our lovability in concrete evidence, saying, “See, look here! I’ve done this, this, and this, making me a good, worthwhile, and lovable person!”

“In order to settle down in the quiet of our own being we must learn to be detached from the results of our own activity… The fact that our being necessarily demands to be expressed in action should not lead us to believe that as soon as we stop acting we cease to exist. We do not live merely in order to “do something”—no matter what… We do not live fully merely by doing more, seeing more, tasting more, and experiencing more than we ever have before. On the contrary, some of us need to discover that we will not begin to live more fully until we have the courage to do and see and taste and experience much less than usual.”

Not only can unreflective busyness in our lives lead to an emptying of our true selves but we become confused, bereft of the ability to understand who we are. Activity can clue us in on how we’re doing; yet, we are not what we do. And if we fail to see that, then our good acts can become emptied of love, an attempt to win God’s or other people’s favor rather than an expression of authentic love done freely.

Merton’s words pluck a deep chord in me. As someone who is generally motivated and devoted to a routine to be productive, I know that I’ve fallen into the trap of relying on my actions to validate my worth and lovability. I can’t even be sure that, as I write these very sentences, I’m not writing to prove my worth as opposed to revealing it. The truth, I imagine, is that it’s probably a little bit of both.

It’s been through prayer and an honest regular reflection on my actions and motivations that I’ve come to realize the danger of idolizing a life rife with activity. I have to keep reminding myself that no matter what I do—no matter how good or noble the action—it should always be done as a response to God’s love or the love of others, not a plea for it. Love respects and sustains our freedom, gently compelling us to love through action but not coercing us.

So what can we do to ensure our busy lives don’t lead to exhaustion and a loss of self? Nothing new. We can build into our lives a space for prayer and fruitful reflection. We can strive to sit in silence and listen to the voice of love that speaks words of affection, encouragement, and counsel. We can respond to a what-have-you-done-for-me-lately mindset with less doing or, at the very least, with doing that reveals—and doesn’t justify—our inherent worth and lovability. And in this, we can avoid running on the wheel of exhaustion and boredom.