“I’m busy, therefore I’m OK.”[1]

Tick tock tick tock tick tock, the march of time really is relentless, or so it seems. People view time as something that rushes away into our past, something we can’t hold onto. We never think of the moments to come, the anticipation that there will be brand spanking new time just around the corner. Instead we look at all we didn’t do in the time that we can never get back. We are maudlin animals, chuntering, grizzling and dwelling on the things we haven’t done, and the things yet to do. We rarely sit back and enjoy our actual achievements.

We are a strange species, fixated on the past, yet fixed in the present. Obsessed with how we fit into time. How we use it haunts our infrequent dreams. Did I put the bins out? Have I got time to get away at lunch to do some shopping, I have no time at the weekend. Our life’s worth diminishes in this onslaught of uncertainty, so we do things and tell people about it.

Constantly.

Facebook statuses must be updated, tweeting every achievement in snappy little 140 character bite sizes. Couldn’t take time to tell you more, too busy !

“Busyness is our status symbol. Everytime we proclaim ‘I’m busy’, we are saying to the rest of the Busy Generation that we are worth something...”[1]

We love putting obstacles up in our way from stopping and looking about us, because being busy makes us feel important. The only way to be part of the world, is to be like an elementary particle, whizzing about, waiting to crash into another particle, hoping to interact with them. Hoping to stop with them? And how do we do that? We make ourselves busy. We give ourselves momentum with work, and then use the gravity of those around us to spin ever faster.

But strangely, it could be the exact opposite. Maybe we put up the hurdles and barriers merely to step away from other people? Maybe this world of busyness insulates us from having to properly interact with one another.

‘How are you today?’

‘Alright, busy busy’

When were you last ‘alright’ ? We ignore what our hearts and heads tell us, and medicate ourselves with wine or painkillers so we can continue at a pace that is slowly chipping away at us. Modern life is forcing us to grind our joints to dust, and as we wear out, we think exhaustion is our reward. We fall into beautiful jet black sleeps, where we can’t even dream because we are too tired or anaesthetised to do so.

Yet when we do dream, on those rare occasions, they are filled with doubts borne of failed crusades, or looming shadows from the future of things not yet done.

“Busyness often hides levels of confusion, fear, anxiety and pain.” [1]

These dreams scare us busy. Ghosts of what we haven’t done, or failed to do, stalk us, whispering doubts in our ears. Fear is our motivator. The fear that we will be seen to not be part of this world if we’re not busy.What if we are seen to not be taking advantage of time? Of not going to the Lake District or evening classes? Are we really busy? Do we just want to give the image of us as a circus tumbler and juggler? Look at how many things I can do at once?

How can we fit in anything of importance into such a maelstrom?

"Being busy can make you feel important, but is what you are busy about important?" [1]

It rarely is. If we’re honest with one another. Few of us are bomb disposal experts, even fewer of us are President of the United States of America. What are we busy with? That report for Finance? And even if our jobs are important, are we defined by our work? Are you just someone who treads over the same carpet 7.5 hours a day, creating work so you have something to do, something to fill the time? What are you waiting for? Maybe we make ourselves busy so we don’t focus on the fact that we have nothing to look forward too?

Maybe the busyness stems from this confusion? We keep filling our time with so much stuff that it becomes cluttered , overcrowded, et voila, we are now busy in another sense.

“It is not enough to be busy; so are the ants. The question is: what are we busy about?”[2]

We compare ourselves, and our society, to those of ants, bees and termites. They busy about their business, always moving with a manic energy.  They each have their place and their job to do. And we like that, like a more regimented version of ourselves. We forget that they have tiny brains, ones which are chemically programmed to do very few functions. They are flying Casio Calculators from the 1980s compared to our brand new Apple iMac brains. Yet we do act in very similar ways, building vast cities that we move around in, to be busy in.

Why do we celebrate the 24 hour cities? Why are London, NY and Rio deemed such exciting places? The cities that never sleep, we want to live in these places that occupy us whenever we want. We want the adrenalin rush that comes with deadlines and noise and busyness in big cities. The onrushing excitements as our hearts pump ever faster, and beads of sweat prick our brows. This fake importance, this fake busyness is a house of cards. We build it because we want it to fall down. It collapses and a whole new batch of busy is created from it like some big bang.

“We are busy about nothing in particular. We have confused adrenaline with purpose. Our permanent busyness is a façade and when the busyness finally stops, the house falls down".

Can you be rational when you are busy? Can you be calm and busy? Can you function without being busy? Can you live without being busy? Have we built everything around us in this way because being busy is better than looking at what we are actually doing?

I am typing this, and I like it because I am busy. I am not watching telly, or reading a book. I am not wasting time. I am just busy, and I am happy with that. It makes me feel a connection to the artists who are doing pieces for this exhibition, that in some weird way I have parity with them. I don’t, but if I put the hours in, if I craft every word, if I make my busyness about this whole thing obvious, people will notice, and that faux importance will come my way.  Do I want to be not busy? Worryingly, I don’t think I do. How about you?

"Now that it's all over, what did you really do yesterday that was worth mentioning?"[3]