On Scott Adams’ Dilbert website, there used to be a section where readers could submit their own stories of workplace foibles. One guy wrote in to talk about how he and four of his buddies managed to take at least one day a week off each. They worked for a big company and it was easy to get lost. Besides, they covered for each other.

If it was your day off, you were the “out guy” and you didn’t have to do anything but enjoy the day. But if not, you had a work to do.

The four guys who were working each had a task. One guy would go by the office of the “out guy” two or three times a day and post a note reading “be back in 15.” Another would fill a coffee cup halfway and leave it steaming on his desk. Someone would change the programs on his computer around. The fourth would shuffle papers and what-not around his desk.

The point was, anyone who came by would just assume they’d missed the “out guy” and check back later. The guy on the website claimed they’d pulled this off for years. These guys understood one important fact: It’s more important to look busy than be busy.

I’ve worked for a lot of companies. Most of them have been small startups, meaning that often everyone was very busy. There just weren’t enough people to do everything that needed done. But I’ve also worked for bigger companies and everyone acted just as busy there.

What I’ve come to find is that people wear their busyness as a badge of honor. The busier you are, the more important you are. The more important you are, the busier you need to look. The word business itself is the noun form describing a state of being busy.

I had one boss who lamented to me that he was missing his son’s birthday party because he had to stay late one night when I and several others were working on a big project. There was no real reason for him to be there–except to make it appear that he had to be there and seem busy. The sad thing was, I got the distinct impression that he was more interested in making sure we knew he was missing his son’s party than he was in finding a way to go to it. He knew that missing his son’s party was a sign of how busy–and therefore how important–he was. In a way, he was proud of it.

What’s funny is that I’ve noticed that people will compliment you at work by talking about how busy you must be. They’ll say things like “I know how busy you are, but…” or “You’re probably too busy…” and “We’re all really busy right now…” The thing is, they say these things having no idea how busy you really are. In fact, people have said these to me when I’ve been decidedly unbusy.

I’ve had times when I had little to do. Or I simply had a moderate workload, but nothing terribly pressing. And yet people wanted me to feel important (for their own selfish, butter-him-up-so-he-won’t-say-no reasons), so they told me often how busy I was.

For the longest time, I bought into this. I thought it was important to be really busy all the time. But then I busted my ass on something that was “important” and circumstances changed. Suddenly what I was working on was irrelevant. It got me thinking.

There was a lot of stuff I’d worked on that became less significant days or weeks afterwards as situations changed. So I started getting pickier about what I would really haul ass on. I lost interest in staying busy for the sake of being busy. Suddenly, I was more efficient and I actually got more done. I wasn’t wasting time on activities that were about to become obsolete.

Don’t get me wrong, I definitely had and have times when I’m busy. This week was one of them. But when I’m busy, it’s because there’s some really important stuff going on or because I really enjoy what I’m doing at the time. Not because I’m insecure enough to think that looking busy makes me more important than I am.

I was also surprised by how much stuff that seemed important really wasn’t. There was lots of stuff that the old me would have taken care of right away–stuff that would have eventually become unnecessary. And I mean a lot of stuff. But after I realized how much of it carried only the illusion of importance, I found myself doing less work and getting more done. And people recognized it. I was working smarter, not harder.

Pretty soon, people knew they could rely on me to deliver on what actually was important, because I didn’t waste time on stuff that wasn’t. I knew how to prioritize and let the slack fall by the wayside. And people recognized that, too. Pretty soon they were asking my opinion on what was important and what wasn’t.

Now, when people compliment me on how busy I am, I take issue with it. I’m insulted in a way. They’re telling me that I don’t know the difference between what’s important and what isn’t. If I had a son, his party is what would be important. And taking time off? That’s definitely important. And when it’s going to make a real difference in my company or job, the work is important.

So how often is any given thing really all that important? I try to think about what will happen–not what “could” happen or who will be angry–but what actually will happen? What is the realistic risk associated with not taking action, or just not taking action right away? What if instead of doing that thing, I did something else? What if I put some attention on that longer-term project that always seems to fall last? What if I actually caught up on my email? And what if I did something that we normally pay lip service to as important (you know: friends, family, hobbies, quiet time, self)?In a week, will that thing still be so important? In my experience, not nearly as often as we might think.