I am a dawdler in a world of lets-get-there-yesterday people. I've always been a dawdler. As a child my mum used to ask me, regularly, what on earth took me so long to walk home from school. I could turn a 20 minute walk into an hour and 20 minute meander. Off in my own world, day-dreaming and only half aware of my surroundings, I trusted my feet to take me home (eventually), while my mind was busy with other things. I never do anything in a hurry, I take forever to weigh up the pros and cons, and then when I actually start, it still takes me forever. I'm a slow peg stuck in a fast hole...or maybe that should be stuck fast in a hole? I've never had a speeding ticket, and I've been driving for over 20 years. I can't see the point in speeding. What's the point in being 5 minutes early if you arrive a nervous wreck and your blood pressure is that of a whippet on speed? I like to enjoy the scenery. I like to look up at the clouds through the windscreen. Well, not so much that I don't notice the truck in front has just put its brake lights on, but enough to actually feel like I'm on a journey.
Slowness is a lost art I think. We seem to have forgotten how to be slow, to walk instead of run..or dawdle instead of walk. To stop and smell the roses, as they say. Fast-track, fast food, fast lane, drive-thru, instant download, instant credit, why wait get it now...where are we all rushing to anyway? Is it that important, can it really not wait? We all know what's at the end of this great journey, so why be in such a hurry to get there? Enjoy the ride!
So here is a small poem on being a slow peg in a fast hole...if you like it, I'll admit it's mine, and if you don't, I'll tell you I just happened upon it while web-surfing. ;-)
I am swimming against the current
in this headlong rush to death.
I have no taste for haste
I would rather wallow in my slowness
turning lazy circles in the shallows
marking the passing of the hours
the sun riding high and low
the shadows gliding short and long.
And I will arrive at my destination long after you
are white bone pounded into dust
on the unforgiving shore of pointless craving.