Have you ever felt the overwhelming numbness of completion? That’s what I felt yesterday. Packing my bag for the afternoon and evening’s tasks and realizing I don’t have anything to study for. I can’t go into the office now because there’s nothing there for me to do yet. I can’t run errands because I don’t have any to do. Everything is completed.
And it’s the most uncomfortable sensation I’ve ever experienced. Nothing to do. Nothing to avoid doing. I’m always either running to do or running away from doing something. This, this is something new. I don’t know how to deal with this. I don’t understand leisure, only avoiding work. I don’t understand relaxation–only the collapse of exhaustion.
I’m a workaholic without a job, addicted to deadlines, to hurrying, to busyness. If I have a free moment, I fill it. If I’m crunched, I add just one more thing. My heart is thrilled with the challenge of twenty-nine things to do in twenty-four hours. My schedule doesn’t affect my to-do list. Heaven forbid I do less because I’m gone more. No, I must stay busy.
And so the dull ache of Elijah, mission accomplished, now sitting alone under the terebinth tree. Addicted to busyness, I’ve forgotten that the goal was completion. Now I’m done, and when I should be celebrating-I’m begging for another buzz.