There is a certain peace that comes from being still. Not physically still necessarily, that is hard on the tale-bone and normally ends in a nap, but mental stillness.
It took awhile to discover my quiet thoughts were missing and had been slowly replaced with desires to be out, see things worthy of telling others about, sharing surface level knowledge of many individuals without investing time in truly sustainable relationships.
As Travis says in "Sing" I was "going to hurry."
This is more of a deep seated contentment issue, the ability to have stillness of heart. The ability to dwell on what IS instead of what is NOT. To claim and label things as good because that is absolutely what they are.
Certainly there are many different factors to my hurry. But I find myself more susceptible to an accelerated pace when I set up a standard as attainable when in fact it is not. When I let the speed of technology dictate the pace and believe I can keep up.
I was not made for newsfeed speed, or twitter, or texts, or really for a cell phone. Nor was I built with a mindset to seamlessly, healthily incorporate these changes into my thoughts, into my day. Integrating them is a struggle.
On my computer the best parts of acquaintances lives are before my eyes. Parties, courtships, marriages, babies. All instantaneous. Separated from the process that led to these events they spill from my computer screen to my eyes. These events are Athena-like springing fully formed, picture perfect and creating a direct comparison of what is happening on my side of the screen: laundry, dishes, lesson plans, a bowl of cereal, a neglected book.
Being at my core competitive, I then raise a higher standard for myself. There are no action steps. There is no process. It should (whatever that goal is) be attained. Now. I saw so-and-so do it 30 seconds ago on my computer, so I can too. I must.
It leads to intrinsic pressure. The false belief that desires can be fulfilled instantaneously. This is in no way peaceful.
Space. Time. Process. I had lost sight of their value and my need for them.
To build these back in I need to take longer. Cook from scratch. Look up a word in a dictionary. Walk to a destination. Hand-write a note. Hold onto a thought, forget it, and remember it later. And these tiny changes might end up teaching me greater things. How to be patient with my mind. How to savor a book. How to enjoy a breeze. How to reflect on a day and retell a dream.