I am running down the block like a pack mule. My oversized bag filled with a computer, workout clothes, ingredients for this evening’s meal, and a million other miscellaneous items that I deem worthy to carry about my day. In my other hand, I juggle my son’s backpack, snow boots, and a half-eaten sandwich and that I have been instructed to save. I rush through the light. Drop a boot, run back, grab the boot, and make it safely to the corner by the skin of my teeth—only to hear a young man yell a kind suggestion my way.
“Hey lady, take it easy!”
Take it easy? Is that even possible? Have I swirled myself into such a tizzy of to-do lists, life goals, and action steps that natural time seems … well, unnatural? I know I am not alone on this one. The disease of rushing has reached epidemic proportions. It’s not only socially acceptable to multitask, but it has become expected. Gone are the days of lingering or being unreachable. My addiction for instant pleasure has taken me to a state constant impatience. God help me, but it’s true. Add to it the holidays, the start of school, the in-laws are coming, or any other mildly stressful event, and suddenly I am in the midst of the perfect storm. Seriously, how is this serving anyone?
Rushing is a belief in a lack of something. I know this. It is movement done under pressure and at an unnatural speed. Plus, it does nothing for my looks and image! Seriously, I see myself as the frazzled lady who shows up huffing and puffing about the past and the future, too removed from the moment to ever take in the now. I envy the gal who glides in cool, calm, and present.
So, I am looking at the girl in the mirror, and I am making a change. I am going to slow down. I am going to be the change I want to see. I am going to take that passing angel’s advice and take it easy.
Honestly, I have no idea how that will happen, but I am leaving the door open and waiting. I am consciously not rushing out to buy or get, but instead I am going to see what shows up. If it is all God, and God knows my highest good, then perhaps I should trust her a bit more, huh? My fears tell me I am going to miss out on something, but haven’t I been missing so much already anyhow?
What I am seeking is greater grace. Yes, a grace period of sorts. That slow and deep breath of easy, as apposed to the trying to catch my breath. I am tired of going through life like a bull with my head down and horns drawn. I imagine life on easy street—a charmed life, like Oprah, Sandra, Barbara, and all the other media goddess whose names end in the ah sound. Ah … just the note I am looking for. My Lord, I think I am having an aha moment! This is already working!
Okay. Sure I am aware that those ladies probably rush too, but in my imagination (which by the way I have not paid much attention to lately because who has the time, right?) I will sit … no I will lounge with a warm cup of tea and a small group of friends, and I will listen, laugh, and take it easy. I promise I will.
There is a part of me that says my dream is unattainable, and that I am not worthy of the easy grace-filled life. There is a part of me that says I will never be able to embrace that energy of opulence that comes from being in the now, without rush, worry, or scurry. But worthy or not, this is the gift I am attempting to give myself—the gift of ease and grace. I am going to stay a little longer, and if I am late, I am going to trust that all is well. I am going to listen without just waiting for my turn to speak, and I am going to try my best to allow silence to have its say. I am gong to slow cook, hand write, and let others go first. I am going to allow myself to ponder, wonder, and daydream a bit. Just for today, I am going to breathe deep and let go a little. Because underneath it all, I have a feeling that giving up and letting go might be just the thing I have been chasing.