By: Jennifer Richardson Holt
I do many things entirely too quickly.
I suppose the first that comes to mind would probably be driving. And there is no need to lecture. Yes, I know I should follow traffic regulations and drive the speed limit. I do try, honestly. Often my efforts are strongest when I see a patrol car but still, I do try. There are just those times that I get behind a car that is just moseying along that I am so terribly vexed. Usually, it is because I am trying to get somewhere by a specific time and the lollygagger is hindering my schedule. Many mornings I am attempting to get to work, and I find myself behind a rusted little pickup just plugging along. It is at this point that I say to no one in particular that “Ole Peepaw must be going to get himself a biscuit.” In thinking about this comment, I think it serves to make me less frustrated with the driver thinking of a little old man. Though then I am frustrated that I am not going to get a biscuit.
I don’t know, however, why I drive quickly when I am not in a time crunch. I cannot say why it is that I feel the need to go quickly when I don’t have an appointment to keep.
I also eat too fast. I always have. And the fact that I married a former military man who learned to eat quickly or you didn’t get to eat at all certainly did not slow me down any. The traditional family dinner at our house is most assuredly not a long leisurely process. That probably is not a good thing. We will occasionally have an in-depth discussion that hinders our partaking, however, once the conversation is sorted, our food vanishes as if a magic trick has just occurred. I’d wager that this is not really great for quality family time or digestion.
I absolutely love food so you would think I’d savor it. That makes perfect sense to me and yet I don’t do it. The food isn’t going anywhere. I do not, in fact, live in a Victorian workhouse where I must snatch and grab any morsel that I can scrape up. I am not wanting for nourishment as the number on my bathroom scale would quickly inform you. And while I understand moving quickly to get to eat because it is something that I enjoy, hurrying my way through the process doesn’t make very much sense at all.
It’s all very strange since, all things considered, I’m a pretty patient person overall. I am not one of those who cannot bring themselves to wait for things. I don’t feel like I should be slow per se but at least not always rushing about. I even walk quickly now that I think about it. True, I am tall, so my long legs do make for a stride that covers more ground, but they are fast strides and that is my preferred way to walk.
What is my hurry? And really, it isn’t like I’m moving quickly to be more productive or get more done. I suppose that could be the case occasionally but more often than not I just rush because, well, it’s just what I do. If I am relatively patient–which I am pretty sure I am– then why must I dash about?
It’s an even stranger pairing with my rushing because I am a procrastinator. Now, mind you, I do my best work at the last minute, so this has, for the most part, served me well. But in pondering my haste in doing so many things, being someone who puts things off seems abnormal. It seems I am not applying my accelerated pace to the places where it likely would help me out the most. Maybe it’s the fact that I don’t leave myself much time to do things lends itself to rushing. Yes, that’s probably it. I don’t condone it but that could at least explain it.
Perhaps, since I clearly can’t explain my hurry very well, I am a product of a society of rushers. We are certainly a people that love to always be pedal to the metal towards the next achievement. We want what we want, and we want it as quickly as possible. I don’t know how much we cotton to the old adage that told people to “stop and smell the roses”. I don’t know that we are willing to slow down long enough for such things. We are too busy fueling the stressful fires of the next goal, the next gain, the next comma in the bank balance.
But while I, and many like me, are zipping along, am I forgetting that where I am right now was somewhere I had wanted to, or maybe even prayed to be yesterday?
In a triathlon if an athlete focuses solely on how they’re going to do their running their swim stroke and pedaling may suffer for it. Flying for the finish line would be fine in the 100-meter dash but that’s simply not the case. Life is not a sprint.
Things will go by quickly enough whether we want them to or not. Be diligent about getting to work on time. Meet deadlines whenever possible. Be a punctual guest. But then again, a well-run race that is wise in making each step will lead to a superior crossing of the finish line.
The finish line isn’t going anywhere.
It will still be waiting when you arrive.
So perhaps it’s all right if, every once in a while, you stop and let Ole PeePaw get his biscuit…or even go get one yourself.
Prose and Possibilities 