I’ve made a weekly commitment to write, beginning last week. HOWEVER, I quickly compromised the agreed upon time to meet my writer colleague. I just had to go to water aerobics as usual! No inherent obstacle there— shortening my pool stay would have increased the likelihood of arriving punctually. I didn’t. I thought that I had time to go to Costco. I had traveled the route from the YMCA to Costco as recently as a week ago, yet I forgot how long it took. I forgot that workers created one-lane roads at least twice along the way. I forgot that the usual time of travel lengthened. There was NO way I would arrive at stated time to write. As I rushed toward doorway at Costco, I didn’t like how I felt—rushed and irritated. I also didn’t like that I would stay feeling rushed and unsatisfied if I continued create my mood based on hitting a mark on a clock.
Are there alternatives?
My physical progress through the store, through the traffic weren’t likely to change. My mood could. I decided that whatever time it would take me to accomplish the tasks I had was just enough time. WHAT A RELIEF! I undoubtedly wouldn’t arrive when the clocks chimed eleven. However, I would arrive having been present, appreciating my reliable car transporting me, appreciating the landscape along the way, and more relaxed.
How did time take priority over a sense of well-being?
For millennium, humans lived without clocks, yet we came together for many purposes. Long ago I bought into somebody’s value of efficiency as the top value of a pyramid. The ramifications are widespread. When I make it my priority, I don’t notice my environment. I don’t acknowledge people. I’m on the clock instead of in my heart. Such is the price I pay for efficiency, usually unconsciously, without calculating the price.
Now as I learn daily to listen to my own spirit, I know timelessness. My spirit has NO investment in a clock created so that humans will know when a train is arriving or departing. My spirit is REALLY interested in the relationships I have—with the clerk at the checkout counter, with my speedometer, with my neighbor on the road, with the hawk flying overhead, with my life purpose, with myself.