I sipped tea, painted and sketched a little, wrote, read, and relaxed. Not worrying about what happenings I was missing out on or catching up with friends. I stayed in the moment and just chilled. And I caught myself saying on Sunday- it feels like it's been a long weekend. I was actually ready to go back to work.
Got me thinking about how we choose to spend our time. We all know those white rabbit types: "I'm late, I'm late, for a very important date." Sometimes I slip into that mode, shoulders tight, mind overoccupied and forget where the hell I am not to mention where I'm going. Why do we do that to ourselves? There's lots to do- beautiful, wonderful things, but in our relentless search aren't we less likely to enjoy those things? I once went to three parties in one evening. Didn't really enjoy myself at any one of them- so preoccupied with the next and/or previous good time.
Sometimes I feel like someone born in the wrong era. I can see myself as one of those dreamy characters in an early nineteenth century novel who spends days lying by a creek somewhere counting dragon flies and sketching architecture in the distance. I'm sure this is just my romantic notion of those "olden times." People were probably just as busy- just with other forms of entertainment than we find ourselves engaged with. Maybe they were so busy trying to make a living, farming say, that they actually had less time to spare than we do.
Perhaps it's what you spend your time doing that makes you more or less overwhelmed. And back to my original point- time really is on our side. If the white rabbits in my life want to be white rabbits because they just enjoy that busy life I won't argue with them. All I know is when I slow down enough to enjoy the moment, I feel content. It's like my old pal Henry David Thoreau once said,
"When we are unhurried and wise, we perceive that only great and worthy things have any permanent and absolute existence, that petty fears and petty pleasures are but the shadow of reality."
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