Have you ever had that moment where you realised everything you thought you knew was just you been deliberately unaware... or escaping?
There was a time I wore "busy" like a badge of honor. My calendar was a battlefield of meetings, deadlines, appointments, errands. I moved through life like a wind-up doll, always ticking, always going, but never arriving.
If someone had asked me how I was, I'd reply without thinking: "Swamped."
Ask me how things were going? "Busy as ever."
It felt important to be in demand. To be needed. To be doing something all the time.
Until one day, I wasn't. The best part of it was... it was still okay!
It happened on a Wednesday. Not a dramatic one. No car crash. No diagnosis. Just a slow, creeping realization that peeled back my perfectly curated life like old wallpaper.
I had cancelled lunch with my mother. Again. Fifth time in six weeks. She didn't even sound disappointed anymore. Her voice had become that polite hum people use when they've stopped expecting but haven't started resenting. She said, "It's fine, baby. You're busy."
And just like that, something cracked.
I stood there in the kitchen holding my phone, realizing I hadn't actually been busy that day. Not in the soul-deep way that justified missing her smile, her stories, her simple need for my presence. I had just... drifted. Checked emails. Reorganized folders. Scrolled through online carts I didn't plan to check out. Replied to messages that didn't matter. Watched content I didn't remember.
I wasn't busy. I was avoiding.
Avoiding silence. Stillness. Reflection.
Avoiding the soft voice in my head that had been trying to ask, "Is this really your life?"
I sat on the edge of the kitchen chair, frozen. For the first time in a long while, I didn't reach for my to-do list. I just sat with the heavy, shameful truth of it: I had confused movement with meaning.
Somewhere along the line, I had decided that productivity was proof of worth. That being wanted was the same as being whole. That if I could just stay busy enough, I wouldn't have to face the emptiness quietly blooming inside me.
I kept telling myself I was working hard for mine and my unborn kids future. For comfort. Stability and Legacy.
But at what cost?
I hadn't visited my father's grave in over a year.
I couldn't remember the last time I sat with my sister and just talked.
I hadn't opened the notebook I used to write poetry in since the pandemic started.
And the last time I laughed so hard I cried? I think Obama was still in office.
That Wednesday was my wake-up call.
It wasn't loud. It didn't come with a warning. It came with a whisper: You are living a life you will one day regret if you don't slow down and pay attention to the parts that matter.
So, I did something radical.
I took the next day off.
No excuses. No fake emergencies. No "catching up" tasks disguised as rest. I woke up early, made a real breakfast, and drove an hour to my mother's house. She opened the door in her housecoat, blinking like she wasn't sure I was real.
"You... Came?" she asked.
"I'm here," I said. "And I've been gone too long."
We spent the day on her couch drinking too much tea and laughing about nothing. She told me stories I'd heard before but forgotten. Stories I should remember.
That day didn't change everything overnight. I still have deadlines. Responsibilities. Ambitions. But it shifted something deep within me.
Now, I question my busyness.
I ask myself: Is this necessary? Or am I just numbing something?
I block out time, not just for productivity, but for people. For joy. For breathing.
I've realised there's this lie we tell ourselves: "I'll slow down once I've made it."
But here's the truth that hit me like a freight train that day: You're never really "done." Life doesn't give gold medals for burnout. And time doesn't wait for your schedule to clear.
My father used to say, "If you don't make time for what matters, time will make you forget what mattered."
I didn't understand it then. I do now.
So, let me ask you something, dear readers, and answer this not with your rehearsed logic but with your honest gut:
Are you actually busy… or are you just afraid to face what you've been avoiding?
Because it might be the book you haven't finished writing or reading.
The call you haven't made.
The truth you haven't faced.
The life you haven't really lived.
Whatever it is, whatever waits for you beyond the noise, promise yourself you won't keep postponing it for the illusion of busyness.
You don't need to do everything.
You just need to start showing up for the things that matter.
Before the door closes.
Before the chair across the table is empty and
Before "I'll do it later" becomes too late.
So, take this moment. Breathe. Look around. Ask yourself the hard questions.
Because like my mentir once said: when you run out of money, you're broke.
But when you run out of time... you're DEAD.
And nobody gets to clock in late to the life they were meant to live.