Turns out, March is a long month.
Maybe it’s because it follows such a short month. Or, maybe it’s the indecisive weather pattern unable to make up its mind – does it want to stay cold? Snow? Rain? Let the sun shine?
Of course, it could be because this is the month I decided to blog every day. (Or, at least, every night.)
I’m not one to wish days away.
Many mornings, I spend as many minutes as I can sitting cross-legged on our back deck on top of a thin cushion from one of our patio chairs. My eyes closed to a field where deers run every day, I lock with my fingers and rest my hands in my lap with my palms turned upward.
For, at least, ten minutes, I do my best not to fidget or itch my nose.
“Breathe” is the word I use to focus. “Breath, Breath, Breath.”
I always feel like I’ve accomplished something when my ten-minutes pass without me daring to look at my phone’s timer. Then there are the mornings where the seven-minutes I’m sure I’ve been breathing turn out only to be two.
Unable to focus on my breath, my mind won’t stop listing the things I must do as soon as I stand up, my ankle starts to itch and I’m sure there’s an insect that has worked its way under my shirt.
“Breath” I think – returning to my focus word.
My sister and I were at a Coldplay concert in Cincinnati years ago when I spotted someone wearing a t-shirt that read, “Time is a man-made concept.” The words stuck. Even today, they will pop up when I’m rushing through my day. I will think to myself, “I’m never going to make it on time,” and out of nowhere I see that shirt. “Time is a man-made concept.”
And somehow, it eases my anxiety of trying to get from one destination to the next.
Regardless who made it, time is funny. The ten-minutes I strive for in the morning – the ones that pass as if in a dream – weirdly shorten the usual space of what ten minutes feels like. But the ten-minutes that stretch out beyond what I feel I can bare, seem to take forever.
And yet, isn’t that what we all want more of? More time? Don’t we want the forever?