I set out for a run on Saturday and decided to listen to a podcast with social scientist Adam Grant about how to say no. Saying no has been on my mind as we turn the corner into the fall. I look at my calendar—which is already crammed so full it could burst—and I know I need to remove items and make space. I literally have been putting notes all over the place reminding myself to stop and breathe for five minutes—morning, noon, and night. The idea is that those moments will help me slow down, pay attention, and return to a spacious place. I usually forget or neglect those five minute intervals even with my bright green sticky note reminders, which means I often keep rushing and producing without even noticing what I’m doing.
My life is full of both typical things and things that are particular to me: three kids in three different physical places and three different stages of development. Two part-time jobs with enough flexibility to allow me both to say yes to other opportunities and to keep me constantly checking email and responding to requests. Four ideas for new books and fear that we live in an era where books are increasingly irrelevant. Volunteer involvement with communities I love. Date nights. Friendships. A house with a basement that floods in a new spot each summer. A creaky car. A creaky, middle-aged body that would ideally engage in strength training, running, yoga, walking, and hiking on a weekly basis. A church community. A list of books and movies and shows I want to read and watch. A rotating wheel of worry for those three kids I already mentioned. Jury duty. A cat who has suddenly become allergic to something and needs injections every four days. The list goes on.
I know it’s not unusual to have too much going on and not enough time to do it. I’ve read the time management books. I use a weekly planner. I’ve worked on putting the “big rocks” in place first and letting everything else settle around them. What has surprised me about this season is that the big rocks are no longer a question. It’s the little decisions, the stones and pebbles that fall into place around them, that I’m also learning matter a lot.
For much of my life, I have been asking questions about my “highest and best” use, my calling and purpose, my vocation. But for the past few years, I have felt clear about the big picture. In addition to the ongoing need to take care of myself and our family, I get to communicate through writing, speaking, and teaching about Reimagining the Good Life. And yet I still need to learn how to discern—on a very granular, day to day basis—what to do with the time I am given. My prayers are no longer for confirmation of my calling but for faithfulness within that calling, day in and day out.
In other words, to live faithfully—toward God, toward myself, toward others—I need to learn how to discern what is mine to do, and what is mine to do right now. I need to learn to say yes. And I need to learn to say no.
Which brings me back to the Adam Grant podcast about how to say no. I was running along and taking mental notes on tools and tips, and then they started talking about the research that shows how particularly hard it is for women to say no. At that point, on a very bucolic and flat stretch of road, my right quad and hamstring seized up. They tightened in a way I’ve never experienced before, for absolutely no reason I can offer other than that my body responded with vehement protest to the idea of telling people I couldn’t do everything they wanted and needed from me all the time! (Which brought me back to the Body Prayers I worked on a few years ago.)
Three days later, my leg is still tight, a little reminder that I am very much still learning how to say no, and I’m resisting that lesson even as I long for it. I’m starting small, looking for little ways to slow down and pay attention. I watched the sunrise this morning. I said no to two optional dinners. I told a colleague I can’t take over leadership of a committee. And, on a few occasions, I have paid attention to my prompt to sit and breathe for five minutes.
Nothing dramatic has shifted yet. But I trust that it will, in time. I am reminded of the phrase that Jesus was the three-mile-per-hour God, walking through the world without hurrying, willing to be interrupted, withdrawing from the crowds even when they demanded his attention and didn’t understand what he was doing. As someone who follows Jesus, I want to walk at his pace, the pace of love.
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Amy Julia Becker desires to challenge assumptions about the good life, proclaim the inherent belovedness of every human being, and help us envision and build a world of belonging where everyone matters. Amy Julia invites people to reimagine the good life through her writing and speaking on disability, faith, and culture. She is the author of several books, including To Be Made Well, White Picket Fences, Small Talk, and A Good and Perfect Gift. She is a guest opinion writer for national publications and hosts two podcasts: Take the Next Step and Reimagining the Good Life. Becker is a graduate of Princeton University and Princeton Theological Seminary (MDiv). She is a member of the Disability Ministry Network and the Alliance for Disability Justice and Ethics in Reproductive Genetics. She lives with her husband and their three children in western Connecticut.
