It's odd; I can't remember being busy as a child. Yet, as an adult, being busy is about all I can remember.

And so now I'm in my first semester as a full-time college teacher, thoroughly enjoying the students and the subjects, but, once again, way too busy, or am I?

I wonder if my problem is a lack of priority rather than a lack of time. Is it that I'm not discerning enough to choose what is best over what is good? Do I lack the courage to say "no"?

 It's odd; I can't remember being busy as a child. Yet, as an adult, being busy is about all I can remember. It's a thread that runs unbroken through my 20s, 30s, 40s, and now 50s.

As a young college student, I fought for the time to balance work and school. As a young father, the battle was between work and family. I remember trying to spend quality time with each of our five little ones, a noble enough goal but one that was, at best, sporadically reached. (My son Josh called me "Daddy Go," as in "Where did Daddy go?")

In my late 30s, now the father of teen-agers, I was busy pastoring a growing church. I like to think of these as my efficiency years. I planned, I delegated, I carried my Day-Timer everywhere I went. Much was accomplished, much was not, and I felt much guilt.

So in my early 40s, as I contemplated a career change, time was one of the factors that helped me choose teaching. If anyone was unaffected by the busyness of modern life, I thought, it was college teachers. Academicians know that thinking can not thrive in a hurry-up world so colleges give their instructors plenty of time to read, to discuss, to investigate and to meditate on important life matters. So I thought.

Of course I knew that becoming a teacher would require busyness, so my 10-hour days in graduate school neither surprised nor discouraged me. When I was overwhelmed by the schedule, I only had to think of graduation and those undisturbed moments of leisure to come.

However, if I had been more perceptive, I might have experienced some apprehension. For my graduate teachers did not model the uncluttered schedule of my dreams. They too were overcommitted and overworked. Yet, I think if I had asked them, my professors also considered their busyness temporary. They expected to maintain the present pace only until the new professor was hired or only until the accrediting board had finished their inspection.

And so now I'm in my first semester as a full-time college teacher, thoroughly enjoying the students and the subjects, but, once again, way too busy, or am I?

My tendency is to end columns like this with an indictment of modern society (you know, those pesky pagers, cell phones, and laptop computers) and a call for a simpler lifestyle. But today, I'm wondering if busyness is only a modern phenomenon.

What if I could somehow interview a mid-19th century American farmer, one who had just arrived home from a day following his horse-drawn plow in the fields, a day, incidentally, that started at sunrise and did not end until nearly sunset. Would he consider himself a man of leisure? Would he tell me that he had plenty of time for, say, reading?

Or would he laugh at my 20th century whining? Would he remind me that, except for royalty and the very rich, long periods of leisure belong either to the unemployed or the seriously ill?

I wonder if my problem is a lack of priority rather than a lack of time. Is it that I'm not discerning enough to choose what is best over what is good? Do I lack the courage to say "no"?

Yep, guilty on both counts.