I'd Love To, But I'm Working

I have a question. When did we start needing an excuse to spend our own time doing what we want?

I had an aunt who was a hairdresser. She worked in a beauty shop, and as I recall, she was a pretty busy woman.

At least, that’s what she always told everybody.

Whenever somebody in the family needed a little help with something, or there was some family obligation she wasn’t particularly interested in, her response was almost always the same:

“I’d love to, but I’m working.”

It was a family joke, and if somebody suggested asking her to help with something, you could pretty well predict the answer before the question was even asked.

“I’d love to, but I’m working.”

Now, I was just a youngster back then, and this was probably 50 years or more ago. I certainly didn’t know everything about her life, her responsibilities, or how much she actually worked. Maybe she really was that busy.

But even as a kid, I suspected that being busy was sometimes a pretty convenient excuse for not doing something she didn’t particularly want to do.

Funny how your perspective changes with age.

Because here I am, all these years later, beginning to appreciate the possible advantages of my aunt’s favorite expression.

And that got me thinking.

When did everybody get so doggone busy?

I’m not just talking about people raising families, holding down jobs, or trying to keep a business running. Those folks have plenty of legitimate reasons to be busy.

I’m talking about everybody.

Even retired people seem to be busier than ever.

I remember when retirement was supposed to be the reward for decades of hard work. You finally reached that magical point in life when you could slow down, enjoy yourself, visit with friends, pursue a few hobbies, or just piddle around the house if that suited you.

And maybe do absolutely nothing once in a while.

I know retired people whose schedules would rival those of somebody running a small business.

They’ve got projects, appointments, meetings, activities, trips, and a seemingly endless list of things they’ve got to do.

Now, don’t misunderstand me. If that’s what makes them happy, more power to them. Some people genuinely enjoy having a full calendar. Others have family responsibilities or obligations that leave them little choice.

But I wonder how many people stay busy because they feel they’re supposed to.

Somewhere along the way, being busy seems to have become a badge of honor.

Ask somebody how they’re doing, and there’s a pretty good chance they’ll tell you how busy they’ve been.

Almost as if having a little free time is something to be embarrassed about.

And that brings me to something I’ve noticed in my own life.

I still work. A lot.

There are weeks when I put in 60 hours or more, dealing with all the responsibilities, pressures, and frustrations that come with running a business.

So when I finally get a little time to myself, there are things I genuinely want to do.

Sometimes I want to work on a personal project. Sometimes I want to write something. Sometimes I want to explore an idea that caught my interest.

And sometimes I don’t want to do a doggone thing.

But here’s where it gets interesting.

Just because I haven’t scheduled something for a particular afternoon doesn’t necessarily mean I consider that time available for somebody else to fill.

Yet how often do we find ourselves agreeing to go somewhere or do something, not because we particularly want to, but because somebody else has already decided that’s what we’re going to do?

And if we hesitate, we feel compelled to explain ourselves.

Why?

Of course, we all have responsibilities to our families, our friends, and the people who depend on us. Relationships involve compromise, and there are plenty of occasions when doing something for somebody else is more important than whatever we had planned.

I understand that.

But shouldn’t there also be some consideration for the things we want to do?

I’ve noticed that saying “I have to work” is generally accepted without much discussion.

But try saying, “I’d rather stay home and spend the afternoon doing something I enjoy.”

Somehow, that doesn’t always carry the same weight.

Isn’t that peculiar?

Why should something we do for enjoyment be considered less important than something we do because somebody else expects it?

And here’s where I have to confess something.

I’ve occasionally caught myself using a variation of my aunt’s old excuse. Sometimes I really do have work to finish. Other times, I’m enjoying a personal project, and saying I’m working seems easier than explaining that it’s how I’d rather spend my afternoon.

Apparently, I’ve picked up at least one of my aunt’s old habits.

I suppose she’d get a pretty good laugh out of that.

But there’s another side to all this that I find myself thinking about more frequently as I get older.

How many times have we agreed to something we didn’t particularly want to do, telling ourselves we’d find another day for whatever we actually wanted to do?

Another afternoon. Another weekend. Another opportunity.

There’s always another day, right?

Well, maybe.

But one of the things age teaches you is that those days aren’t quite as plentiful as they once seemed.

And I’m not suggesting we become selfish, neglect our responsibilities, or refuse invitations from people who care about us.

I’m simply wondering why so many of us seem to feel guilty about wanting a little time that’s truly our own.

Time that doesn’t have to be productive.

Time that doesn’t have to satisfy somebody else’s expectations.

Time that doesn’t require an explanation.

Maybe the real question isn’t why everybody is so busy.

Maybe it’s why we’ve come to believe we need a good excuse not to be.

Which brings me back to my aunt.

For years, we laughed about her familiar response.

“I’d love to, but I’m working.”

Looking back now, I wonder whether there was something about that answer I didn’t fully appreciate when I was younger.

Maybe she really was working every time.

Maybe she simply didn’t want to do what somebody was asking.

Or maybe she’d discovered that saying she was working was easier than explaining that she had other things she’d rather do.

Whatever the case, I’ve developed a little more sympathy for her over the years.

Because there’s something I’ve come to realize.

You don’t necessarily have to be working to have something better you’d like to do.