Walking Away
How might I surrender the kind of self-importance that believes I can always do more, more, more?
Earlier this month, I wrote about my approach and word for 2025, Gentle. In that same vein, this week I considered what gentleness might look like in terms of admitting my own limitations and walking away from things not meant for me. Here’s what I shared on the Reformed Journal Blog.
All I can think to say this morning, is please guide my attention to that which is worthy of it.
When I am overwhelmed by everything that has to get fixed in this broken-down world, show me what is MINE to do then please give me the strength to do it and the humility to rest afterwards.
I once hung a quote near the door of my office, intending for it to catch my eye as I came and went. It read: “I am learning to love the sound of my feet walking away from things not meant for me.”The aspirational phrase for me is, “learning to love,” because several years and a couple of offices later, I’m still learning.
I want to love the sound of my feet walking away from things not meant for me, but it’s often hard to hear them over the noise in my head— a cacophony of guilt, doubt, and people-pleasing.
I’ve often struggled with discerning when a good “no” might make for a better “yes.” I am susceptible to falling into the trap of playing the busy game—convinced I’m called to the impossible mission of fulfilling every request for my time at work, at home, at church, or in my writing, and my social life. But the reality is that nestled inside every well-meaning, sometimes half-hearted yes, is a no to something else just as worthy.
Though time is finite, we’re constantly encouraged to believe that the right “hack” can bend it into something less rigid and linear. From books on writing to discipleship, cooking to education, there is no shortage of advice on how to best spend—or optimize, prioritize, or steward—our time.
A friend recently persuaded me to pick up Oliver Burkeman’s Four Thousand Weeks: Time Management for Mortals because she found its message so contrary to the quick and easy solutions often promised to stretch time so we can fill it even more efficiently. Based on the premise that if you live to be 80, you’ll get 4,000 weeks, Burkeman describes his book as “an entertaining and philosophical but ultimately deeply practical guide to the alternative path of embracing your limits.”
I’m captivated by the book. Not because it’s making time management easier for me, but because Burkeman, a recovering “productivity geek,” is forcing me to admit that I won’t ever get to the bottom of my to-do list and that time hacks are a myth. He suggests that every task we complete means procrastinating on another. And that facing our limits is uncomfortable. And necessary.
Burkeman’s philosophical approach to time has got me wondering if there might be more freedom in letting go than in holding on too tight. If really want to embrace the upside economy of the Kingdom of God, how might I surrender the kind of self-importance that believes I can always do more, more, more? And how might walking away from things not meant for me open up other paths? Not necessarily easier paths, but better ones.
What if the fear of missing out (popularized as FOMO) was replaced with faith that God could be offering something better—even if it’s different from what I initially believed?
So maybe I’ve not completely learned how to love the sound of my feet walking away, but I am finding grace in slowing down, grounding the humility of my limitations, and better listening to my footsteps whichever way they’re pointed.
Borrowing lines from Nadia Bolz Weber’s prayer above, I will continue to ask God to let me hear the beauty of walking away from not only that which is not meant for me but the joy of walking toward that which has been created for all of us.
And as I look out the window on this frigid, snowy winter morning, happily distracted by the chirps of tiny birds visiting my feeder, I commit not to conquering my to-list today, but to accepting my limitations. And in that, opening up space to receive gifts I didn’t expect or earn.
Brilliant food for thought, Dana. Also, saying NO when YES is not the right answer for one’s life is the kindest gift we can give to ourselves.