Rushing and Racing
My mind races. It Always races- my body could be worn and my limbs could ache from exhaustion, but my mind, it always races. And I am always in a rush. A rush to get my boots on so I can be out the door, a rush to get that meal cooked so I can be out the kitchen. A rush to get someplace and do something quick enough just so I can rush out of being or doing that.
Sometimes I am exhausted from all that rushing and all that racing. And not to forget from all that keeping up- Instagramming, FB-ing, Pinning, Tweeting they all make me feel like I don’t do enough. Like I don’t have enough. Enough creativity, enough fun, enough chic and at the end of the day, when all I’ve done is gawked at others-I feel like I don’t have enough time!
I wished that things could be simple or at the very least simpler than they were. That there would be a way to slow down and make life uncluttered. I dreamt of simplicity because my earnest belief was that simplicity would bring me more time. The kind of Time that would allow me to be just myself, to be comfortable in my own skin, however rough and calloused it was.
Spending most of my days with a child has forced me to slow down. If you’ve ever dreamt of slowing down and smelling the roses, a toddler will make your dreams will come true. One of the inadvertent consequences of being around them is that you becoming more childlike. I don’t mean it in a glib way at all. I am not just talking about eating their ice-cream cones and listening to the same elmo song over and over again, although those things are fun too. I am talking more about the liberty that childhood grants you, in allowing you to be just who you want to be, when you want to be.
There is no pressure to conform to the habitual expectations that we adults tend to set for ourselves. Children take beauty where they see it and enjoy it in the way they see fit. We drove for almost two hours to see the tulips in full bloom, yet what most entertained my daughter were the puddles in the midst of the fields. She wanted to jump in them with her pretty shoes on and when I picked her up a little too rough and chided her. She said “But the puddles are the most fun mumma.” she explained but didn’t protest. Back home I asked her “Were the flowers pretty? The pinks, the purples, did you like them?” “Yea and I like the water too, the brown and grey are pretty too.”
The little things that inconvenience us, the ones we are most keen to forget about- are the ones that they notice, love even. The pace at which her life moves is different from the one that I am used to as an adult- it is the pace that I have forgotten, in my quest to always get someplace and always do something.
I knew I needed that kind of liberty. I even yearned for it. I just didn’t know how to achieve it. How does one slow down when everything around you tells you, it’s time to be “reaching out” to grab more and “leaning in” to give more? The world of adults is paradoxical and insane most of the times.
And so I try. One day at a time to “get it.”
I try and run with her wild imagination, though most days it outruns me.
I try and think as big as her dreams are, though most of them are bigger than my mind can handle.
I try and love back as much as she loves this world, though I think as adults we cannot love as much or as well as toddlers do.
And most of all; I try and not rush or race so much anymore, to hold on to every moment with her.