CHASING DOWN THE MUSE:Cut back on rushing and make time count

Bending time.

If only it were as easy to shift time as it is to imagine the possibilities of no time constraints. Hours drifting like gossamer clouds on a balmy summer day. No worries. No cares. No tick tick tick to dictate behavior.

Often, time feels like a runaway train. Others, it’s as sluggish as a clogged drain.

Consider running late for work or an appointment. Minutes become measured in seconds. Hands of the clock flying faster than the blink of an eyelash. The signal turns red at just the wrong moment.

Traffic slows to a crawl. No matter what side roads or shortcuts, arrival is guaranteed to be late. Time speeds past without so much as a compassionate glance.

Counter that with waiting for someone to arrive, be it a friend, or a doctor for an appointment. Time slows to a crawl. Minutes become hours. Moss gathers on the feet. Pace and fret. Seek any kind of distraction from the discontent. Time stalls. The hands on the clock refuse to move.

Both sides, fast to slow, slow to fast, measure our experience of life. Not unlike the days of childhood, before clocks became a marker, and life was still lived by sunrise and sunset. The day was broken apart by cold cereal, peanut butter sandwiches, and maybe a hamburger for dinner.

Grownups and responsibilities. And the tick-tock tick-tock.

Summertime reminds us to let go, to gently let go. We find spaces for picnics and family vacations. We take longer walks on the beach.

We host backyard parties with barbecues and friends.

While walking with Emma the other morning, I found that my “list” has dropped from the top of my memory. I was busy smelling the fragrance of the Pacific Ocean. Watching the scurrying feet of a black-bellied plover. Fragments of sea shells and spent lobster parts captured my attention. An errant piece of frosted white sea glass begged a closer look.

The world stopped. Emma and I were present to the sea weed, the hawk soaring overhead, and the conversations that ran wildly from politics and personal issues to traffic and the art festivals.

Waves broke offshore. Children ran in the edges of sea foam.

Tourists asked for directions. Time was on hold “” temporarily.

Maybe we need more of that “” more cutting back on the rush and hurry. More space for personal reflection and contemplation.

More musing about our own personal worth “” and I don’t mean what’s in the bank or trust account.

I doubt that any of us count ourselves as lucky for those hours spent in gridlock on our local roads and freeways. And that given the choice, we would rather spend that time watching our children play or sharing a stroll with a loved one.

We chase the dollar and its power. It’s a strong narcotic. We can have things. Fancy things. New things. Surfboards. iPhones. New cars, watches, clothes, toys.

We are western-world hard-wired, and we pay the price in broken relationships and health that bears the clear markings of our self-induced stress.

We are too often trapped in and by our things, and have learned to measure our selves in competition with the acquisition.

And what of the man who chooses, not the road to riches and success, but that of and for his loved ones? How would we measure his lifestyle choice?

On my studio wall, I have taped a quote by Paul Bowles upon which I reflect frequently.

He writes, “... we get to think of life as an inexhaustible well. Yet everything happens only a certain number of times, and a very small number, really.

How many more times will you remember a certain afternoon of your childhood, some afternoon that’s so deeply a part of your being that you can’t even conceive of your life without it?

“Perhaps four or five times more. Perhaps not even that. How many more times will you watch the full moon rise? Perhaps 20. And yet it all seems limitless.”

How many full moons, I immediately ask myself. How many more?

I want to turn off my clock more often. I want to savor the expanded moment. I want to be present, fully present and drink from this rich cup of life.