Column: Recalibrating our sense of time

I have thought a lot, during this pandemic, about the gift of time that staying at home more has given us. I have also noted that, with the changes in our schedules and use of time, the days tend to blur. But I am finding that my own adjustment to these shifts has been slow,

Most of the time, I am still trying to hurry up.

For three months, I worked from home. Then I was on summer vacation. Now I am back to work as a school librarian, but because of the continuing limitations on where we can go and what we can do, I am finding myself in the same odd mode.

It’s like I love the slower pace of life in theory, but I have a hard time embracing it in practice.

Too often, I find myself rushing. Sighing with impatience. Let’s get this done!

The other day I stopped and thought, “What am I doing?” It was lunchtime, on a weekend. I had no place to go. The afternoon, in fact, was going to stretch out in front of me in a not entirely comfortable way. Yet, I was storming around the kitchen as if it was—-well, February, and my husband Paul and I were having a quick bite before heading out to a matinee.

I thought this was interesting, because when we spend a week on the coast each summer, I am able to slow down. I sit down on the deck late in the afternoon and read, and then rather lazily notice that it’s time to start cooking. Padding into the kitchen, I turn on Maine Public radio and get out the pans I need. Dinner will be ready when it is ready.

Of course, I’m not on vacation now. I am back at work. We are in a time of major anxiety and uncertainty. Our country is in pain. Although the start of school has gone well, we are all on pins and needles. Will a student or staff member fall ill? Will we have to close down again? 

Paul and I have not done much shopping—other than for necessities—and have not gone to any restaurants. He is over 65 and has asthma. It’s just not worth the risk.

I do all the grocery shopping, and most of the errands. Paul does the recycling and bottle redemption and picks up a takeout pizza once a week. On the weekends, we go someplace scenic to walk and have a picnic lunch.

That’s it. Our lives outside the house. No reason to hurry. For the first time in years, I was able to get all my plants into pots or the ground this spring without losing any. I had the time to do this before they wilted and died on me.

It occurs to me that maybe I want to “hurry up” because I want to get through this thing. I want to come out on the other side. I want this to be over.

That is certainly the way I feel in the grocery store. Paul drives me and waits in the car. One day he said he didn’t recognize me coming toward the car at first because of my mask, but I was walking so fast he knew it had to be me.

I used to enjoy grocery shopping. Now I run from the store.

The antidote to “hurry up” is slow down. And there is no better time than now to practice “being in the moment.” My life may have slowed down, but my thoughts haven’t. I need to keep them where my body is at any given moment, instead of galloping ahead to the unpredictable future.

In the supermarket, I try to focus on my list. The list itself has become essential, because It’s difficult to go the wrong way in the one-way aisles. There’s no backtracking. Frankly, I don’t even want to go back for anything because I want to get out of the store as soon as possible. We’re in a pandemic. I can live without whatever it is I forgot to get in aisle five.

Focusing on my list is the equivalent of putting one foot in front of the other. Pasta. Check. Cat food. Check. Milk. Check.

Before I know it, I’m out the door.

In the kitchen, I have adopted a practice long overdue. The French call it “mise en place.” That is, having all your ingredients and utensils ready to go before you start cooking. This makes perfect sense but does not come naturally to me. I want to start opening the fridge and the cabinets, grabbing things, cracking eggs. Oops! Need the frying pan. Now I need to put the eggshells in the compost bin. But darn it! I didn’t peel the mandarins . . . .

Instead, I am getting out the oranges, the bread, the eggs, the milk. The bowl and the frying pan. I am peeling the oranges and setting them aside as the pan heats on the range.

Soon there will be French toast. But not too soon. Because, what’s the hurry?