Being busy is an epidemic. In American culture these days, people don’t want to say that they aren’t busy. While most people probably actually are busy, talking about being busy seems to be a hobby of the busy people. They may be busy, but they aren’t too busy to make time to talk about being busy.
I suppose I must have been busy when I was an undergrad, but I don’t really remember it. The mind remembers what it wants to remember. I remember lazy two-hour lunches with friends and afternoons writing in my journal at coffee shops. I must have been busy at my jobs after college. But what I remember most vividly are lovely happy hour cocktails after work in downtown Seattle and reading “Harry Potter” while sitting in the staff room in a junior high school in rural Japan.
Now as a graduate student, I think I actually am busy, but I seem to have caught a virus called procrastination. There seems to be no cure. I talk about how busy I am, but what that really seems to mean is that I have a lot of other stuff I should be doing all the time. I’ve become one of the people I get annoyed by. I can always find time to complain about being busy.
And the procrastination kicks in when I feel all of what I have to do weighing down on me. And of course, I want it all to be perfect. And there is a lot of it so it is probably unrealistic to expect it all to be perfect. I don’t want to just get my stuff done, I want to get it all done to my standards.
I spent ages trying to write this column. I told myself that after my snack, I would sit down and finish the column. But I couldn’t have a snack without something to drink. And I couldn’t have another Diet Coke, so I made some Kool-Aid from scratch. Cooking is so time consuming. And, eventually, after watching an episode of “Celebrity Fit Club” and calling my parents just to chat, I sat down to try to finish this column. Or figure out why I couldn’t finish it.
And I guess it’s because I don’t just want to write a paper. I want to write a paper that will make my professor think I’m the best student in the class.
I don’t want to just give my guy a Valentine’s Day present. I want to give him the best Valentine’s Day present he’s ever received. I don’t want to just stay in touch with my friends. I want them to think that I stay in touch with them better than anyone else who has moved away.
And it’s not happening. I have to give myself permission to not be perfect. To not get it all done. To annoy my editor by turning in my column late. To get back in touch with long lost friends even if I’m embarrassed about letting myself drift away from them. To send a bad Valentine’s Day present.
And I’m giving all of your permission to be imperfect as well. Have a great week.
Amanda Wolfman is a Medill graduate student. She can be reached at [email protected]