Why Everyone Wants a Piece of You When You’re Busy — and You Can’t Find Purpose When You’re Not

Manousos A. Klados
Jun 5
3 min read

Updated: Jun 6

There’s a strange paradox I’ve come to notice, and maybe you’ve felt it too: when you’re at your busiest, juggling deadlines and racing between meetings, it seems like everyone suddenly needs something from you. Emails multiply like gremlins. Your phone lights up with “just a quick favor” messages. Your calendar starts to resemble a game of Tetris with no winning move.

But then — when your calendar clears up, when the rush dies down and you finally have time to breathe — something else happens. The world goes quiet. No new emails, no urgent requests, not even a group chat ping. You start wondering, Where did everyone go? And stranger still, you find yourself at a loss for what to do next.

It feels like a cosmic joke. When you’re drowning, everyone throws you more water. When you’re finally dry, you have to go looking for the ocean again.

I’ve sat with this paradox for a while, and I think there’s more to it than just coincidence.

The Momentum Effect

When we’re busy, we’re visible. We’re present in people’s minds because we’re moving, producing, responding. We radiate energy — and people are drawn to it. They assume (sometimes correctly) that because you’re already doing things, you must be the right person to ask. They see you as capable. Reliable. Active.

Busy people look like people who get things done. And so the world gives them more to do.

But when you’re not busy — when you’re between projects, taking a pause, waiting for the next spark — you become less visible. Your light dims a little. You slip out of the rhythm that kept you so connected. And while that quiet is often necessary, it can feel disorienting too.

The Identity in Activity

Being busy often gives us a sense of purpose, even if it’s exhausting. We know what to do when we wake up. We’re needed. We’re wanted. That kind of clarity is addictive.

But when we’re not busy, we’re left with something more ambiguous: freedom. And freedom, oddly enough, can feel heavy. It requires us to choose. To initiate. To ask, What do I actually want to work on? And without the external pressure of deadlines or expectations, that question can be harder than we expect.

Learning to Navigate Both States

I’m learning (still learning, always learning) that both states — busy and still — have their own rhythm, their own kind of wisdom.

When you’re busy and everyone wants something from you, it’s okay to say no. To guard your focus like it’s your most precious resource — because it is. Not everything is urgent. Not everything is yours to carry.

And when you’re not busy, don’t rush to fill the space just to feel productive. Sit in the quiet long enough to hear what your own mind is whispering. Sometimes the most important ideas emerge in that silence.

Maybe the real lesson is this: life isn’t meant to be balanced like a scale — it’s more like a tide. Busyness will come in waves, and so will quiet. Your job isn’t to control the ocean. It’s to learn how to swim in both.

And maybe, just maybe, to enjoy the stretch of beach in between.