I am walking along a footpath and get to the traffic lights. There is a graphic of a red person telling me that it is not my time to cross the road. I feel agitated. I look up and down the road impatiently. No cars. I hurry across, feeling a sense of guilt at being naughty and elation at saving myself 20 seconds.
I get a bit further down the road and I think, saved myself 20 seconds of what? Of waiting time? Of time to stop and think? Where am I hoping to be 20 seconds faster? At the shop? On my couch? In front of my TV?
I start to wonder why I feel like I need to be just a bit faster than what the world seems to be allowing me to be. Because if I really needed the 20 seconds I saved to make all the difference in my day, then I have some larger questions that need asking and answering.
The answer is not clear to me, but as I ponder this thought I notice all the small ways I rush: cutting the vegetables; folding the clothes; typing the blog. Something inside me does not want to accept some of these moments as they are.
My task is to notice the times I am rushing, and to deliberately take a deep breath and go slow. And to observe the results.