One of my mother’s favorite expressions was “haste makes waste.” Doggone, that one rings true far too many times. I so often in this space have preached about slowing down, experiencing things to their fullest, being in the moment. But even I have moments that seem to stack one upon the other and then collapse in a giant Jenga block pile.
And so it was this weekend. Or last week, that is. Here I am past my deadline yet again, the Renaissance Faire now exhaustingly behind me and I realize, I have got to figure out a way to get out of this better-under-pressure way of being.
What the heck was I doing while I was supposed to be making jewelry for this show? Massaging, playing with kittens, planning for my summer party, playing with kittens, pulling weeds. Did I mention playing with kittens? Why was I so pooped out, fer cryin’ out loud? Part of it was fixing things that happened while hurrying through them. (Thanks, Mom, for the reminder.)
Then consider the calisthenics one’s mind goes through every day: “I should really do such-and-such. Oooo, that’s a great storyline! I really want to call so-and-so. Huh. The PG&E guy has to put an orange safety cone behind his truck even if he’s just going to the smoke shop. Funny, from behind, it looks like those dogs are driving that car!”
Never miss a local story.
I have so many twists and turns and loop-de-loops in my thought processes I sometimes break into a sweat. And then I break something or forget to put oil in my car.
Add the complication of nervousness about doing-something-in-particular, whatever that may be. That nervousness tends to lead me to stall, hesitate: “Why am I doing this? Will it turn out as good as I want it to?” I do that every week, let alone this weekend past while selling my wares. Am I taking that “haste makes waste” too seriously; hence, just not doing it?
Pressure cookers present a meal more quickly than a normal pot with less energy. That’s what I like to tell myself about my procrastinative ways. (I know, spellcheck doesn’t like that last word. Oh well.) Part of the issue, I believe, is I have found myself with more time on my hands than “normal” and so tend to pedal in circles sometimes. I hear that about retired spouses — “What are they going to do with themselves now other than get in my way?”
Lists. Lists have been my saving grace on many an occasion. More so than calendars. I only use calendars that have small spaces — if there’s no room left on the page, there is nothing more I can take on. Well, work/meeting/gathering-type things. It’s worked so far. Except for the daily minutiae. For that, I make lists. Or should I say, will start to make lists again.
Anal? No. We must simply find the ways to stimulate, motivate and activate our minds. Some people run. Some people meditate. I do all of those. Sometimes they work. Sometimes … well, here I am crashing through my vocabulary for words that might make sense, connect to someone, yet again.
I guess that means all is right in the world! My world, anyway.