To understand this the first thing you must know is that I never tell anyone that I am busy. When asked if I am busy I usually deny busyness outright, unless I am genuinely pressed for time in which case I may admit that I am a little busy, but not as busy as most folks I know.

For I am not that busy, and have never been. I think I am constitutionally incapable of being as harried as many others in my profession are. A friend of mine who is a bit of an expert on the Myers-Briggs recently informed me that people of my Myers-Briggs type always organize themselves out of work. It is true. From high school to now I always look at any task and try to figure out how to do it the easiest way, or, if possible, how to arrange to not do it at all.

So I am not busy like most people I know. Never have been.

But there is another reason for never laying claim to busyness. The person inquiring usually does it in a tone that indicates that being busy is the ideal condition. "Are you busy?" with a lilt to say, "Tell me how busy you are, and I will tell you how busy I am, and we will both be immensely proud of each other for being busy." Since I am most proud when I have succeeded in making work vanish, I deny being busy and move on to someone who might ask me if I am happy, or if I have accomplished anything recently I would like to brag about, or if I am facing any problem I would like to discuss. What is so important about being busy?

However.

Right up through Wednesday this has been a bad week. This is May and since last August I have been on the go constantly. One thing has followed another with steadiness. I have been consulting beyond my normal pace, and writing or working on books whenever I have time to do so. I have not been frantic. But I have been constant.

Until Monday. The phone stopped ringing. People did not call me back. I had nowhere to go. Nothing to prepare for. No event on the horizon.

I became very anxious on Tuesday. I checked my spreadsheet. I am in superb financial shape. That helped for a while but then the anxiety returned. So I sat down and reviewed where I am with clients. One scheduled and moving. Two clients in mid-stream and waiting for the right time for the next step. Three potential clients deciding what they want to do. Pretty good. Would have made me happy once, but not Tuesday. The anxiety built until late Wednesday afternoon and then I figured it out.

I was once deprived of caffeine for a day. I was on a boat, brought no coffee, and all the pop was caffeine-less. I developed a royal headache. Afterward I thought if leaving it is this painful what must caffeine be doing to me when I inject it in myself. I no longer use the stuff much.

The sudden drop in the demand for my time hit me with the same impact as the sudden drop in the caffeine in my body. Not being under pressure caused me to feel anxious. I, who hate being "busy," have become accustomed to stress. Without it I tense up. With pressure, I can relax. By Wednesday I felt a little like the coyote in the roadrunner cartoons who is always running off cliffs but makes it for twenty strides before he stops, realizes he is in mid-air, and plummets to splotch on the canyon floor. My body and soul were still running at full speed, but I had nothing to do.

I solved my anxiety. I took Thursday off and went down to Pepin to put the boat in the water. Not only could I tell myself I was doing something useful, but I could do it among people who were screwing around with boats as evidence to me that there is a life beside that of business. This helped my anxiety some. Then I made the decision that lifted my anxiety entirely. I decided to write this essay for publication in my own newsletter. Doing this as I do it, performing most functions by myself, from writing to pasting on labels, to sorting for the post-office, to carrying it down there, this decision has blown two and one half days from my May schedule. Which means that I am now usefully occupied on business related matters, and therefore not anxious. Hey, somebody just wrote me about coming to Boston for a talk. Not sure that I can fit that into the schedule.

If I kept drinking caffeine, I would not have a headache. And I keep smoking my pipe, so I need not experience nicotine withdrawal. And I will add slightly useless work to my schedule so that I continue to feel occupied, but I will not brag about it.

Down on the docks at Superior, Wisconsin a bunch of the boys always talked about when they got drunk last and how good it was. The lyrics at some meetings I attend are different, not about being drunk but about being busy, however the melody sounds the same. I do not want to sing it.

The author of this essay is John Cowan. He has written two books of similar essays: Small Decencies and The Common Table Each is approximately 160 pages in paperback. To purchase either book by mail send a check for $10 per book to him at 1498 Goodrich, St. Paul, MN 55105. Price will be negotiated for any order over 20 books. If you wish to discuss consulting or speaking engagements or attendance at a workshop he may be reached by e-mail. His address is Johnedie@aol.com

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