I sit down to read a magazine and can’t focus on a single article at a time. I scan the letters to the editor and then leaf through the rest of the pages. There was a time that a magazine could last me for days; now it last only a few minutes.
I sit down to paint my toenails. It’s a chore. I can’t see properly and so I make a mess; I regret the time I have to sit still until the polish dries. Once upon a time it was a treat to choose a color and pamper myself once a week. No longer.
I rush upstairs and downstairs putting my home in order. Hurry, hurry, hurry, but I can’t tell you why. I don’t take the time to enjoy my home, instead I rush through every task that I once enjoyed and found fulfillment in.
It’s Sunday evening and so I’m thinking about the work week that’s going to hit head on tomorrow morning. There is so much to do and really not enough time to do it well. I know that unless something changes I’ll continue to rush to get things done and not take the time I need. The time I need for myself.
I’m longing for a little house on the prairie in a little town of less than a hundred people. I want to can tomatoes, bake bread, make cookies and make quilts. I’m thinking about a dozen Mason jars sitting on a dish towel on the counter waiting for their lids to pop. Precious red jewels that will be put away for the winter.
It’s time to get out of the fast lane and appreciate the journey.