I wake up and I’m already moving too fast.
Trying to cut corners and save time.
Multitasking in the bathroom is a bit obsessive, but somehow I don’t think I’m alone in this.
When did this fast-motion-fest become my default setting?
Why do we search for shortcuts? What are we after more of?
Time, obviously. And for me, it’s writing time. I want more time to do this and use what short stolen moments I can for capturing more tiny connections.
I’ve done this time-mash thing so long it’s become its own pursuit.
Efficiency. I want to make the most of every second, every word, every thought. Capture it all just right and set it on the mantle in the perfect frame.
Perfection. I can’t help it. All I ever see when I’m done are the things I missed, how short it fell. And I think that’s fine because there’s always tomorrow to try again.
Is this my new rat race? I left the working world three years ago September and I gave up my golden ladder. Left it where it lie. And now I see it reappearing in this quest for more high moments. Living out the common, biding, waiting for the ones where I have control and only I steal the show.
And all the time I’m really living less and less alive.
But then I sit and in these pages feel the truth, the pressure falling on my days like a fear of falling. And I know that’s crazy, to be afraid when it’s the very thing that fear is causing. I still. And I remember: When I still, I don’t lose time, I make it. And it makes me, reforms me.
I remember this and it re-members me: time, like all things are not their own, but God’s. And with him in them, they speak as He Himself.
So I reclaim this time for You, my God. Be in it and in me, my words, my life.
This is my prayer of thanksgiving to live and write as a Thank You in every moment.
Thank you, for reminding me today.