Despite my attempts to slow down from the inside out, there is a pressure that sits in my rib cage that pushes me to move quickly.
Hurry, she says, squeezing tighter; Wake up and get up and jump up for time is of the essence and you have not one moment to waste—I know she is wise in her wisdom for she is me and everything in this life has taught me that the words she speaks are the truth.
But, but, but—I desire the slowness; I want to rewind the clock to the start of the day and I want it to take three times as long to move forward. I want to minutes to feel like hours and I want this force to soften her hold on me.
I want to spend long mornings drinking hot coffee and watching the water change a thousand times during the time it takes me to empty my cup and I want to refill and watch it all over again.
I want to spend the day writing, and somehow, have pages and pages of words come falling out and in between I want walks with my dog that get our hearts pumping and a long picnic lunch that satisfies my hunger.
In the afternoon, maybe we’ll siesta, because it seems so civilized and from the catnap my imagination will get a boost so that when I awake, I’ll write pages and pages more before dinner.
The evenings will move slower than a snail; dusk will fall and fireflies will light up the sky as I sit on a porch and drink lemonade. The sound of the cicadas will be loud in my ear but I will know the sound well and be able to hear through it, to the whistle in the tree tops and the hum that keeps the earth revolving.
My home will fill with people I love and by the shine of candles and the gleam of the moon, dinner will unfold and not only will our bellies be pleasantly full but our hearts and brains will be, too. We will linger there, under the night sky, until the last of the stars awakens and we might even walk down to the lake to strip down and wash our souls clean.
Because time is slow, late nights won’t make us tired in the morning, so we might even sit on a swing on the porch and talk and talk and talk and find moments of quiet in between, and there we will be as the sun starts to peek her head into the sky and the birds begin their morning song.
And the next day will be just as slow; there will be time for everything and the voice inside me will hush and her grip will relax so that she gently cradles me and here we will hold each other in solidarity and celebration of a life well lived.