On Labouring

Tonight, a friend of mine came into my room and started talking to me. It was a fairly casual conversation, one you would not normally remark as anything especially out of the ordinary, but as I was talking to him he must have noticed something. He sort of cocked his head a little and asked if I was okay. Pretty standard question, but something in the compassionate way in which it was asked was very penetrating. I realized quickly that I was tired, quite tired. I have been running myself ragged, and (like usual) been putting a very undisturbed face on it. I endure. That is something I have always done. I just keep going. Somehow I had succeeded in fooling even myself that I am fine. It is not that my life is horrible, I have simply been draining myself slowly out of a hundred tiny holes. I am always busy with something, and I have not let myself rest. It is not bad to avoid inactivity, but I have not really been able to rest. The myriad of activities to which I have committed myself have been incredibly rewarding, but exhausting nonetheless.
I must be honest with myself: I am wearing myself out. Perhaps I need to cut back a little. The problem is that I also feeling a sense of urgency. Something is compelling me. I feel as though I have a great work to accomplish, but the inclination is still too nebulous for me to have any certain feelings about it. At the very least, I need to take a step back and figure out what I am pursuing and make sure my motives are right.