Rushing

I'm walking back from the farmer's market. All bundled up in a long mac and thick scarf against the sharpness of the wind blowing rain needles in my face.

I'm carrying a heavy bag full of kale and spinach and carrots, parsnips and eggs. My hip is hurting. I'm limping slightly. It feels like a huge effort to put one foot in front of the other.

I notice I'm walking very slowly. Like an old lady.

My life's habit is to go everywhere very fast. Walk quickly. Towards the next thing I have to do. In a rush. My mind pre-occupied with "What's the time? Have I got time to fit one more thing in before I have to get back / get on?"

In the last year/ last months, when Robin could still walk well, although he never wanted to go very far, I was always trying to make him walk at my pace. Always slightly ahead of him, almost dragging him along. As if the time would run out before I was ready.

And it did. And I wasn't ready. Now I think I missed so much in my rushing.

 I have time to squander now. And I don't feel old.  Older but not old.There is nothing to tear around for. But I'm afraid that if I slow down too much, or stop too long, it will all come rushing back to me. All that time I lost....moments I didn't know were precious because I wasn't really there.

Tonight I've stayed up too late watching television. Just because I can. Playing with time.....looking for a new habit....one where I'm kinder to myself about how I spent the hours of my days and my nights. Floundering a bit in this new and unfamiliar territory of just me to think about. Just me to take care of.