I think it’s time we admitted, as a nation, that we have a problem. I mean, if I can find all of the following in a matter of minutes, we are clearly overworking ourselves and then, because we know we’re working ourselves into early graves and we still have a healthcare/insurance system that rewards us for being wealthy and healthy and never using either, we elevate the notion of “working hard” while denigrating those who actually do.
You’ll never be busy enough, but you’re probably too busy already and if you aren’t working toward your dreams, you’re working toward death, but if you’re working yourself to death, who has time for dreams… We’ve created a neverending, vicious, un-win-able cycle of meaningless effort to appease strangers so that few have time to stop and ask What the Everyloving Fuck are we Doing to Ourselves?
Busy is a luxury to people sick, on disability, or unwillingly unemployed. The ability to stop the Busy Treadmill and take a moment to breath or hang out with family or rekindle creativity is a luxury to those who work long hours or multiple jobs to cobble together enough money to get the ends to see each other from across the street.
I don’t have anymore answers than anyone else, but it does seem in a country we taut as great, in a land of such beauty and bounty, in a time with as much technological prowess as we have, it seems silly — nay, terrible — that we still have such a large proportion of our citizens ending their days as exhausted, overworked, scared, anxious, worried, sick, and precarious, as our 18th and 19th century ancestors.