When you live a crazy life, every minute counts. You feel like you have to check something on the list, stare at the screen, or rush to your next scheduled location. And no matter how I tried to distribute my time and attention, and no matter how many different tasks I tried to solve, I still didn't have enough time to do everything.
This has been my life for two crazy years. My thoughts and actions were controlled by electronic notifications, ring tones, and a packed schedule. And although with every fiber of my soul my inner controller would like to find time for everything in my overloaded plan, this did not work out.
It just so happens that six years ago I was blessed with a calm, carefree, stop-and-smell-a-rose baby.
When I had to leave, she enjoyed finding the shiny crown in my bag.
When I needed to be about five minutes ago, she demanded to strap her toy animal to the car seat.
When I needed a quick bite, she couldn't stop talking to an elderly woman who looked like her grandmother.
When I had thirty minutes to run somewhere, she asked me to stop the carriage to pet every dog we passed.
Promotional video:
My carefree child was a blessing, but I didn't notice it. When you live a crazy life, you develop a tunnel vision with a forecast only for the agenda. And anything that could not be ticked off the schedule was a waste of time.
Whenever my child forced me to deviate from the schedule, I thought to myself, "We don't have time for this." Consequently, the two words that I most often said to my little life lover were: "Come on soon."
I started my sentences with them.
"Come on soon, we're late!"
And she ended sentences with them.
"We'll skip everything if you don't hurry!"
I started my day with them.
“Hurry up and eat your breakfast! Hurry up and get dressed!"
I ended my day with them.
“Brush your teeth quickly! Get to bed quickly!"
And although the words “hurry up” and “hurry up” didn't really speed up the child, I still said them. Perhaps even more often than the words "I love you."
Yes, the truth is painful, but the truth heals … and brings me closer to the kind of parent I want to be.
One fateful day, everything changed. We would pick up our older daughter from kindergarten and get out of the car. It didn't happen as quickly as she wanted, and she said to her little sister: “You are so slow!”. And when she crossed her arms over her chest and sighed in frustration, I saw myself in her - and something snapped inside me.
I was a stalker, pushing, pushing, and hurrying a little kid who just wanted to enjoy life.
I regained my sight and saw clearly how my hurried existence harmed children.
Although my voice was trembling, I looked into the baby's eyes and said, “I’m sorry that I’m making you rush. I like that you are in no hurry, and I want to be more like you."
Both daughters were surprised at my painful confession, but the younger's face lit up with approval and acceptance.
“I promise to be more patient,” I said and hugged my radiant daughter.
Getting the word “hurry up” out of my vocabulary was pretty easy. What was really difficult was to be patient to wait for my leisurely child. To help both of us, I started giving her a little more time to prepare when we had to travel somewhere. But sometimes, despite this, we were still late. Then I convinced myself that I would only be late for these few years until she was older.
When my daughter and I walked or went to the store, I let her set the pace. And when she stopped to admire something, I drove thoughts of plans from my head and just watched her. I noticed expressions on her face that I had never seen before. I studied the spots on her hands and the way her eyes narrowed as she smiled. I've seen other people respond to her when she stops to talk to them. I saw her study interesting insects and beautiful flowers. She was a contemplator. It was then that I finally realized - she was a gift for my soul, worked up to the limit.
I made a promise to slow down almost three years ago. And until now, in order to live in slow motion, I have to make a lot of effort. But my youngest daughter is a living reminder of why I must keep trying. And she often reminds me of this.
Once during a vacation, we went together on bicycles to a tent with fruit ice. Admiringly admiring the ice tower, we sat down at a table. Suddenly I saw concern on her face. "Need to hurry, Mom?"
I almost burst into tears. Perhaps the scars of a hasty life never completely disappear. I realized that I had a choice. I could sit and grieve thinking about how many times in my life I have spurred her on … or I could celebrate the fact that today I try to do differently.
I decided to live for today.
“Take your time, honey. Just take your time,”I said softly. Her face instantly brightened and her shoulders relaxed.
moments when we sat in silence, just smiled at each other, admiring the surroundings and sounds around us.
I thought my child was going to eat every last drop, but when she got almost to the end, she handed me a spoonful of ice crystals made from sweet juice. “I saved the last spoon for you, Mom,” the daughter said proudly.
When I let the ice of kindness quench my thirst, I realized that I had just made a deal of a lifetime.
I gave my child some time … and in return, she gave me her last spoon and reminded me that the taste becomes sweeter and love comes easier when you stop rushing through life like that.
And now, whether it be eating fruit ice, picking flowers, putting on a seat belt, breaking eggs, looking for seashells, looking at ladybugs or just walking, I will not say, "We don't have time for this!" Because, in essence, it means: "We have no time to live."
Stopping to enjoy the simple pleasures of everyday life is the only way to truly live.
Author: Rachel Macy Stafford
