You know that guy, zipping between the traffic, lane-swerving like a loon? That is not doing him any good. He's sitting on the edge of his seat, heart pumping, the adrenaline pouring through him as he gambles with his life and everyone else's. His eyes dart quickly, his hands swing around the wheel and his concentration and reflexes are working at their edge of their ability. Dude. Slow down.
I left work a little early today and went and sat by the lake for a few minutes. I knew there wouldn't be anyone else there, just the swans, the ducks and the geese. What a treat. I watched the fountain for a while and silently traced the ripples as they sped across the water. Then I stretched out, all my limbs clicking as the muscles tensed and relaxed. It was five minutes but it was beautiful.
Thankfully, the geese left me alone. The swans too, were busy building a nest. I was sitting on a bench, smiling to myself. How could anyone say they don't have time for this? It's five minutes but it's a really valuable five minutes.
A significant stress point for me is lateness. I can't bear running late, even if I know that everybody else is. Yet often I hear myself apologising, "Oh I'm really sorry I'm late by the way," and then loathing the fact that I've done it again and had to say those words... again. It's normally fine, they say, because people are nice... except it isn't. Not with me, anyway.
It's that moment at the lights, drumming the wheel and cranking my neck, staring at the red, willing it to change. Stress.
"Come on, come on, come on, COME ON!" I mutter, using every bit of willpower I can summon to change them to green. Green, foot down, tyres squeal round the corner, brake to avoid smashing into the car in front...
I hate being late. It's stressful. So, to counteract it, I think it's time to build in a little margin - let's go the extra five minutes. It's a fifteen minute journey to church. No it isn't - it's twenty now. It takes half an hour to walk to Sainsbury's. Nope. Thirty five minutes.
I think it's well worth that extra time, even if it means you get to hear the trees whispering to each other, or you see a tiny family of mice scuttling across the pavement. Perhaps you're lucky enough to hear the weir rushing and pouring, and there's just a moment to stop and take a photograph or watch the willow trees swaying on the riverbank. My own journeys aren't quite so picturesque, but I do walk down a hugely interesting high street, alongside cars full of grumpy commuters and over into the green and luscious business park where swans and geese are having their own fun.
I swung my rucksack over my back and headed on home. The sun blinked through the trees and a chilly breeze rippled across the lake. Yep, the extra five minutes is going to make life just that little bit more awesome.
Oh and if I'm late for stuff, and I say something like: "Terribly sorry I'm late old bean," then please ask me why, and where I've been. It'll really help me.
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