I’ve always been someone that has liked to keep busy. This can be a good thing, like when I’m dependable and someone you can count on to get the job done (especially helpful as a freelancer), or it can be a bad thing, like when I used to fill my life with things to do every second because sitting still for five minutes felt very wrong to me.
I’m not sure where this comes from exactly. I know my dad’s constant “you’re lazy” refrain must play into it somewhere. I never was lazy. I was an ambitious kid, hardworking with a job and great grades and never got into trouble, but that didn’t matter because when someone wants to blame you for their unhappiness they will attach any label they want. When I was younger, I worked myself sick probably as a way to find acceptance and approval. I used to be so busy I wondered how I could ever slow down and have a life. And that’s exactly the way I looked at it, as if I needed to actually get off this crazy, rushed life I had in order to enjoy regular life.
Eventually, I began to see the error of a workaholic life. It doesn’t get you acceptance. It doesn’t make you feel good. I give you this perspective in order to understand the poem I’m sharing today. Sometimes these older poems really do seem foreign to me. I wish I could talk to that young girl and fill her in on all the great things I’ve learned.
Years ago a friend of my mother in law’s read my book ([easyazon_link identifier=”B004TGUGFA” locale=”US” nw=”y” tag=”wwwthediffere-20″]The Difference Now[/easyazon_link]) and was immediately drawn to this poem. She was older, widowed, and had had to make a life for herself after her husband died. She related so easily to this poem that I began to understand her in a different way than if I had just talked with her for a moment. That’s the power of poetry, sometimes, it helps us say things to each other that we wouldn’t normally have the courage to say.
Most Times
I rush through my life
every second planned
every minute scheduled
never saying no
keeping up the game.
That’s what you’ll see,
most times.
But most times
I’m exhausted
pushing my body
harder, faster
wondering how I can get up tomorrow
and start the whole thing again.
That’s how I feel,
most times.
And most times,
when I fall in bed at night
knowing it is already too late
for me to sleep
waiting
to close my eyes and dream.
Most times
I can’t even tell
that my bed is empty
as I lay by the side
of dreams deferred
and slip under the cover of loneliness.
Most times
I can’t slow down
long enough
to see if this life
I fight for each day
is the one that I really want.
Most times
I just keep going
and pray that my destiny
will ride up one day
and tell me I’ve waited long enough
and I can finally slow down, and live.
That’s what keeps me going,
most times.
[easyazon_image align=”right” height=”160″ identifier=”B004TGUGFA” locale=”US” nw=”y” src=”https://cherieburbach.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/51Ilt7lFoL.SL160.jpg” tag=”wwwthediffere-20″ width=”107″]© Cherie Burbach, “Most Times” [easyazon_link identifier=”B00D7HYAPO” locale=”US” nw=”y” tag=”wwwthediffere-20″]The Difference Now[/easyazon_link], 2004
