There's nothing that bothers me more, than having
nothing to do... maybe it is driven into my by
society, maybe by
my own doing. I have an
obsession with
productivity: the tools, the
methods, the topics,
the outputs, everything.
I think like this: In 200 years, you will be
remembered by what you did; rarely by who you
were. It's a cold, cruel thought that no one will ever remember you as a great
hugger, a warm
conversationalist, or a wonderful
Scrabble partner. No one knows how nice
Eli Whitney was, except that he invented the
Cotton Gin.
You are measured as a some of your
accomplishments. I don't
meditate on my
visage being carved into stone for
coding incessantly in my
life, nor does every breath remind me of my inevitable last. Why am I so obsessed with my accomplishments and this
busy state that people would claim to be
insane?
Some people get
lost in their work, and it
draws them away from their
world. People become
workaholics, and their need for business drives them to excel. A
workaholic can be
cold and
calculating, a person pushed by this notion to be busy...A
productive individual can become their work, something that destroys that sense of self, and that sense of a piece of the whole... you become less that that peice.
Maybe I'ts just because I'm on the
inside, but busy for me is
connected. Moving is
life... like a
shark, those who stand still
die. Always
moving, not always
physically but mostly
mentally. My
showers, filled with the
physical pleasure of the water meld with the
emotional pleasures of a moving
mind... ideas,
feelings,
works,
productions, new
ventures,
problems solved.
Ideas always
filling my head, faster than a pen or a
keyboard can take them down... A museum, solely for my exibition. I always have to have
something to do, or something to
work on... if nothing more than a
back burner project
forever. Something that when all is said and done, I will have something to remember the days by; a trophy of my own handiwork. A vacation is just a change of mental topic away.
Because I always feel the need to be busy, I live in a
weird paradigm: I avoid
sloth like the
plague, but oftentimes with things that are of
little importance; mere
intellectual curiosities. My time is filled always with my own intellectual
stimulation.
In the end a life is
well-lived if the person feels they have done what they set out to do. I enjoy the journey as much as the
destination, as for me, they are one and the same. I could walk a
million years and never have explored all of what my
imagination has to show, and for that I'm happy. But I'd like to visit as much as possible while I'm here...
Even if nothing than in
my own mind, I've always got to be
busy.