time as tyrant

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Sometimes, time seems like a tyrant when it should be a blessing. I have three weeks ahead of me that promise to-do lists, deadlines, and, most likely, yet another blast of unforgiving winter.

Even a stretch of lovely hint-of-spring days doesn’t seem like enough when the cold swirls around once again. An evening with a good book and good company pales when morning dawns, too much work penciled into a too small calendar square awaiting. Have a better attitude, I tell myself. Just keep swimming.

In the quest to live more simply, I have discovered rather quickly that a schedule, like an ocean liner,  does not turn on a dime. Things I promised to accomplish weeks ago are now glaring at me, demanding to be done. Unexpected requests wash ashore. The phone rings. Things break and need to be repaired or replaced. Other things just fall apart.

So what?

So … nothing. I have decided to stop and enjoy this time anyway. For the next few weeks, weeks when I have pressing business every single day (often into the evening) I vow to pause. I will use the camera on my phone to take a photo every day. I will take the time to notice life around me unfolding, blessing me with the gift, not the tyranny, of time. I will participate in that life because I am meant for more than just keeping my nose to an imaginary grindstone.

Of course this means I may  fail at one or more of my pressing-business-to-do list-items. I may fall behind on a project. I may miss an appointment.

Enough.

I am allowed to fail. I allow myself to fail.

The photo above is far from perfect. But when I looked up at this ceiling, I was comforted by its symmetry. There might be an order to this, it seemed to remind me, even if you don’t always notice it. The ceiling is white, but I filtered to shade it blue—my small attempt at painting the sky, at stepping out of my chaos and joining in the chorus if only for a moment.

Then today I paused to record this dusting of snow tucked inside last years blossoms. The flowers will be back, I tell myself. As will the rain, the air, the light.

And I will be here as well. Noticing.

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Comments

  1. Cathy Newcomb says:

    I love the contemplative photo of the snow covered blossom.

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