Avoid The Hurry

I was driving home from work yesterday off in my own little world, as I have wont to do when I am driving, and it suddenly struck me that I didn’t feel hurried. Please note that the term “off in my own little world” does not mean that I was on my cell phone, nor does it mean that I was inattentive to the task at hand. When behind the wheel, I drive. I have even been accused of coming across as “snobby” due to the fact that I don’t always wave back to an acquaintance in my neighborhood when our vehicles pass on the road. Hey – don’t fault me. I’m driving.

Back to the issue at hand: while driving yesterday, a moment of time provided me with the realization that I did not feel hurried. Once aware of this, I glanced at the motorists that surrounded me. It was rush hour, past 5:30 in the evening on a Wednesday. Propelling forward with the assumption that the most common destination here must be home, I imagined that these motorists had evening chores, errands to run, children to kiss, pets to feed, spouses to love, and gardens to water. When compared to life on a lonely crowded highway, who wouldn’t be hurried?

I was not.

I had just left behind my nine to five (okay, on that day: seven-thirty to five-thirty) daily obligation to The Man: he that doth pay my mortgage, as it were. This obligation, without fail, always makes me feel hurried. From the moment that I walk through the door of my office in the morning to the point that I leave, I feel at different times throughout the day that I have forgotten information, misplaced information, haven’t been given enough information, and that I must chase down said information even if I don’t necessarily need it. And to top it all off, I am always in a hurry.

I hurry out of bed, because I hate getting up. I hurry to get busy at work, because if I don’t get started right away, my whole motivation will be thrown. I hurry to answer questions, because that is simply what I do. I hurry myself through proofreading exercises, budgeting tasks, and electronic filing. I hurry to the point of departure, which may end after eight hours or ten – or even twelve occasionally.

Then I hurry home.

Yet on this day, I found that I didn’t feel hurried. I enjoyed the ride. The sun was shining, Van Morrison’s “Tupelo Honey” was playing on my favorite radio station, my sunroof was open, and I can honestly say that I felt blessed at the amount of good fortune that has graced my path through this life. I rejected The Hurry.

I spotted a bird of prey perched on one of the many lampposts that grace the edges of Minneapolis’ crowded highway system. I was able to recall what I friend of mine had said about seeing the same thing on his way to work one day: “That bird was just sittin’ there, lookin’ at all of us like ‘how sad – they can’t even fly’”. Would he be in a hurry to find his prey? Would he hurry to hover over prairie grass? Would he hurry to catch the wind in a lengthy coast to his final destination?

I doubt it.

And so my approach to life was improved upon during that commute time. I headed home to feed my pet, water my grapes and love my spouse. No need to hurry. It was all there for me when I arrived.