In a Hurry to Slow Down

Do you feel like the clock is running out on you?

Like you are racing to catch the next moment, terrified it will vanish.
In a hurry to slow down.
In a hurry to reach all the planned destinations.

My relationship to time is distorted.
I have no control over how long I will be gifted this life or how long the ones I love will be here.
This creates a ticking time bomb in my mind, in my chest.
I must somehow find a way to squeeze in as many precious moments as possible.

Anxiously, I cram as much into my day as I can, being sure to prioritize time with children.

The same children who are growing uncomfortably fast and who will one day leave this home to create their own lives.

I get two hours to myself and feel it slip unreasonably fast through my fingers.

Most days, the two hours before my husband comes home from work slow to a damn near halt.

I am tired.
The kids want endless attention.
Dinner must be made.
Do we screen time to rest and let the time slip out of our grasp?
Or do we sit in the boredom, the slowness, the togetherness?
Yawning our way through fatigue and moments of inspiration and fun.

I fucking hate time and especially dinner time.

Who is coming to make dinner?
Oh, it’s me again.

I hate that time takes forever to heal heartache and brokenness.
I hate that there is no consistency when it comes to how many years we get and who will get a short life.
Shouldn’t we at least be aware of when our time will run out?
I hate that time swallows years and drags on hours.
How does it do that?
Really, I want to know, how?
I hate that I rush to squeeze extra minutes where there are none.

I hate when other people feel calm and free, like they have all the time in the world.

Don’t they know this life is a ticking time bomb?
You only get so long, and that’s it.

I grab my screen.
I zone out.
I pretend time isn’t precious.
I let my mind get distracted and stop pestering me.
I see too much on my phone.
My heart aches for this world.
My algorithm is mostly pain, hurt, and rage.
I pull away from screen time, usually angry.

How did all that time just vanish?
What is this world we are giving to our kids?

To combat this rushed time, I have started going outside more.
I’ve been digging in the succulent garden, pulling weeds, and potting new plants.
I keep setting down my phone and walking away from it.

Maybe it’s the phone I really hate, for how much time it steals, for how much it distracts.

I feel the anxiety in my chest as the sun lowers for the day.
My kids race past each other on their bikes, and every time, my chest tightens, afraid they might collide.
My body remembers those collisions.
I say too many times, “Stay on your side. Watch out for your sister. Watch out for your brother. Don’t cut her off. Good job staying on your side. Good job stopping.”
Wouldn’t it be easier to just let them watch screens?
I’m so tired.

I guess what I’m saying is it’s all too fast and yet, right on time.

Don’t miss it.
Don’t miss the anxiety, the calm, the anger, the love, the sadness; all of it is what makes you human.

Since it’s Friday, here’s an exercise I got from a book I can’t remember now, where you write your eulogy.
Wait, don’t go!
I promise this is a sweet exercise.
You write what you would hope people would say at your funeral.

This is the quickest way to feel into what is precious to you.

What matters to you?
What do you wish to leave behind as your legacy?
Kindness,
Love,
Generosity,
Fierce rebellion,
I don’t know, it’s your life.

I wrote mine a long time ago, when I find it buried in one of these journals, I’ll share it.
I know one thing that stood out and mattered most to me was to be there for my friends.
To be the kind of person people can lean on in hard times and know they are loved and supported.
To be someone who encourages people, lifts their spirits, and reminds them of how wildly capable they are and how much they matter.