Two wishes and ten minutes
Today, I had intended to write about the various slow movements that exist — it began with the slow food movement and has evolved to encompass slow living, slow travel, slow schools, and more.
But I ran out of time.
So, instead, today I’m writing about two wishes and ten minutes. Short and fast. Rather the antithesis of my original intent, but flexibility is important. And relevant.
Wish No. 1: that my hamstrings were less stiff, more flexible
Wish No. 2: that my front garden path were less messy and more orderly
Ten minutes, you ask? Here’s the thing.
I wish away the time wanting something that seems way too big a thing to do anything about. My hamstrings stay tight. My garden path remains messy with weeds and self-seeded plants I don't want there.
If only I followed the advice given to me during the first week of my master’s program. The grad student said, quite solemnly: You’ll have a lot of reading to do and you’ll never have the hour or two or three you think you need to do all that reading. So, take every ten-minute chunk of time you can find during the day, and read what you can. By the end of day, you’ll have read much more than if you’d waited for that chunk of time you’ll never have.
I scoffed at her. Really? Read in ten-minute chunks? Who was she kidding?
But I didn’t ever find those two or three hours, so I resorted to the ten-minute approach. And, damn, it worked. By the end of the day, I had read more than if I had waited for more time. True, it wasn’t as satisfying as it might have been to experience the I’m-a-grad-student-and-I’m-doing-important-reading approach — but I never got to that approach. And I did do (most of) the reading I needed to do, in ten minute chunks.
Today, finally, I took that same ten-minute approach to my front garden path and, while it’s still far from perfect, it is further along to being orderly than if I had continued to wait for the several hours I think it actually needs.
As for my hamstrings. There is always tomorrow. In ten-minute chunks.
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A Post a Day in May No. 29 For the past two years, I have posted something to this blog every single day in May. This year, I hope to do it again.
Photo credit: "Abbey House Gardens" by SLR Jester is licensed under CC BY 2.0
That's brilliant.
ReplyDeleteI can't imagine reading for only ten minutes, but I see how that worked for you. Trying to remember my long ago student days, and thinking reading, other than for lit classes, wasn't a huge issue. But it must have been.
How much easier it is these days, when all those pounds of text books are on iPads or Kindles or whatever. And for the last year or so, students haven't even left home!
But that has nothing to do with wishing away time. I'm an expert at that, practiced in procrastination, with a penchant for passive resistance, alliteratively speaking.
xo
I learned a similar lesson from a next-door-neighbour I once had! She always seemed to get a lot done, no matter how much she had on her to-do list. I admired her, but never quite comprehended her methods, until one day, as I was gazing dreamily out my window towards my back garden, wishing for this, planning for that, I saw her kitchen door fly open, followed by April herself marching determinedly out into her own garden with a pair of clippers.
ReplyDeleteShe made a quick round of one area of shrubs, pruning madly for about 7 minutes, then turned around and zipped back inside without a backward glance - no doubt starting to make sandwiches for her kids' lunch before I had even had time to process what had just happened.
I have often thought about that small incident, especially when succumbing to the perfectionist, the procrastinator, and the putter-er that predominates in my nature - and I will tell myself - "Stop over-thinking and over-planning, and just clip the damned bushes!"