The Sin of Busyness: Finding Peace in the Quiet

Goodbye Oaxaca. I wasn’t supposed to be here, even though I’ve always dreamed of visiting. I knew if I came, it would trigger the pain of my failed marriage and everything I lost 8 years ago.

But I shouldn’t attach painful memories to places. If I do, I let the shadows of my past keep me from living in the present.

Last Thursday morning it was the day after Yom Kippur, the Jewish Day of Atonement. I had a ticket to Barbados to visit a soul sister and attend her conference. At 4:30 am I learned the flights were so delayed and infrequent and I’d miss the event. I’d taken time off from work and now had time and credit to fly anywhere.

So the morning after fasting and cleansing my soul, how did I react?

I thought of the sins I had atoned for and asked G-d for forgiveness. I repented for all the sins listed in the Mahzor (prayer book), and then it got personal.

I repented for something that isn’t recognized as a sin, but plagues me — busyness. Sloth or laziness is a sin in most traditions, but it’s not considered a sin to be busy doing, versus simply being. Well maybe it is for Buddhists, but not for Jews.

Beneath the surface, I recognize my busyness — taking care of my kids, clients, friends, community and the Jewish world — is a brilliant ruse to constantly feed my insecurity. I am only as worthy as the last mitzvah (good deed) I performed or achievement I accomplished.

If I am simply still, quiet, I cease to exist.

Or worse yet, I am alive, alone with my thoughts and the childhood traumas that excavated my bottomless pit of need to be loved.

Miraculously, before the sun rose that morning, I made an impetuous decision to slow down and face my shadows in the most colorful, magical, artistic, delicious place in the world, Oaxaca, Mexico.

For me Oaxaca represents lost dreams. When I was married, my husband and I shared a deep love of folk art. On our honeymoon, we went to San Miguel Allende, Mexico, a world heritage site and international artist colony. We spent time with artists and began our art collection.

I fell in love with Mexico; the quiet dignity of the people, the music and dancing, the rich heritage, the intense intricate colors of the Alebrijes (the wood carved brightly painted animals) and the 34 ingredients in my favorite recipe, mole sauce.

During our marriage we raised three beautiful boys, built careers and gave to the community. We dreamed of going back to Mexico, especially Oaxaca to discover the various villages, each famous for its own type of art: wood carvings, ceramics and weaving.

We never made it.

Eighteen years after that first trip south of the border, I walked away from my marriage and a bright, colorful house full of folk art treasures from Mexico. We had a large Brady Brunch-style staircase with a giant bookshelf along the stairs. Every other shelf was filled with Alebrijes. Our sons would sit on the steps and play with the wood carved sculptures, giving them names and narrate imaginary worlds.

When my family fell apart, I physically left with only my grandmother’s Shabbat candlesticks and my clothes. I told myself I only cared about my kids — losing my home and all the art in it, didn’t matter.

But subconsciously I could hear the Alebrijes on the bookshelves screaming, “Don’t forget us! We love you! We bring you joy! You’ll need us when you’re alone and sad.”

I never saw them again.

Until this week. When I met their makers.

I arrived in Oaxaca with no plan. No place to stay, no friends there, no list of where to go. I felt free and terrified. Not scared something bad would happen, but scared of letting go of control. I trusted in G-d and the magic Oaxaca would reveal.

And it did.

I stumbled upon a beautiful, modest apartment facing a exquisite interior courtyard and it felt like home. I made life long friends. I moved slowly. I visited small villages. I had extended times of watching artists make masterpieces. I took the bus. I got lost. I lingered. I didn’t look at my phone. I didn’t accomplish anything. I felt at peace.

Each day I experienced an incredible once-in-a-lifetime moment that transcended me out of my ego and into the beauty of connecting with strangers through music, dance, food and art.

A full symphony orchestra performing for locals in front of a simple church in the center of the Tlacoula market.

A wild parade with a full band, giant spinning balloons, and people in colorful costumes dancing simply to celebrate a couple’s anniversary.

A meal featuring a tasting of five different moles served with a detailed description of the ingredients and stories of the regions they were created.

A young ceramicist in San Bartolo Coyotepec who spent hours using her grandmothers traditional handbuilding techniques to make a mind-blowing contemporary art piece.

For the first few days, I felt embolden that I manifested my Oaxaca dream. But by the fourth day I emotionally crumbled. I went to the village of San Martin Tilcajete to meet the artists who make the Alebrijes animal figures.

At first I was in awe by how each element of the creation process has been preserved for decades. All supplies come from the local region. The wood is from the Copal tree and is hand carved with classic tools. The brightly colored paint is from organic local sources that is mixed fresh every few days. They use and recycle ever source. I was honored to chat with the masters and their students and learn of their creative freedom and pride in their work.

Then, when I wandered into their gallery and saw a collection of Alebrijes all together, it took me back to my marital home. I was overwhelmed with sadness, tears streamed down my face. The Alebrijes called out to me, “Don’t cry, we’ve never left you, we still love you, bring us home.”

I sat on a bench lost in time, admiring their whimsical nature while I allowed grief to wash over me. Could I replace what I lost? Is it better to walk away and never look back?

Maybe I haven’t bought more Alebrijes because they represent the past and I believe I can only look forward. Maybe I haven’t remarried because I believe I had one shot and I blew it.

But ignoring my past and filling my life with busyness does not fill the void. Fortunately I have my sons and my life is full of joy, friends, meaning and purpose.

But the busyness has not brought love nor peace.

To stare into the void and believe that love and peace is possible, I choose to bring home one Alebrije. I looked at hundreds waiting for one to speak to me with silence. Finally I was drawn to an owl, flying in a shape I’d never seen. I gently picked it up and immediately felt at peace.

One of the students who had been my guide appeared next to me.

“Do you know why the owl chose you? The Alebrijes are spirit guides, as they were depicted in the 20-day cycle of the Zapotec calendar. When the owl chooses you it means it’s time to face your shadows. The owl belongs to those who find wisdom in silence. Listen to the owl.”

Thank you Oaxaca and all your magic to gently guide me into my shadows. Now I begin the work to find peace, love and forgiveness in the quiet.

Heading back into my life, it will be hard not to get distracted by the busyness. But I can embrace quiet on the 25 hours of the Sabbath my tradition has given me. And each day I will sit quietly with my shadows and find wisdom in the silence.

Audrey Jacobs is a mother of three sons, a financial advisor with Bernstein Private Wealth, Chief Connector and Curator of TEDxSanDiego, and Board President of Partners in Torah She can be reached at Audrey@TedxSanDiego.com