I would like to ask everybody to slow the heck down.
I would like to ask everybody to slow the heck down.
Today I was in Target looking for double-edge razor blades. You remember, the kind with one blade on each side, instead of three on one side – but that’s another column.
Another shopper was frantically pawing through the women’s razors with one hand, cell phone in her other hand, talking in a breathless voice to somebody about her schedule. Her iced latte was in the shopping cart’s cup holder, and I hoped it was decaf because she really didn’t need to be any more revved up.
As she zoomed around the corner, leaving behind a jumble of razors, I thought, “Was that necessary?”
Why are we doing this to ourselves?
Now, I admit that in some ways, I am at the top of the too-busy list. I’m currently commuting from Hollister to two jobs in Monterey, and I write this column and do some other free lance writing work. So sometimes I’m late, and sometimes I feel tired, but I hardly ever feel frantic.
The holiday season is notorious for making people feel extra-pushed. Suddenly everything that used to make the season magical has become a “to-do,” if not a competition. We are set up by the magazines and television to feel inadequate if we aren’t the first to get our cards out, to get our lights up, to decorate our trees.
You know, you’re going to get another chance next year, so why not relax? Why not pick and choose among the possibilities and just do the ones that are fun?
I have to thank my husband for getting lights and greenery on the outside of our house, and the tree up and lit in our living room. That allowed me the pleasure of pokily putting the ornaments on the tree, unwrapping the special ones that have been with me since childhood, musing about where others came from and generally taking my own sweet time.
Is it finished? No. It may not be finished until we take it down in a couple of weeks, but it looks great to me all the same.
The other thing I really want to do is bake something. It’s not that I must. I have not planned a gift of cookies or banana bread to anybody in particular. It’s just that to me, baking something is part of the coziness and specialness of these days at the end of the year that, no matter what our faith or beliefs, seem set aside for celebrating.
But how can you celebrate if you’re running around like a supply chief with impossible logistics? Worse yet, I suspect it’s not only over-busy-ness that makes everybody seem so rushed. I think seeming busy makes us feel important or something.
Well, we are important. Too important to squander our days, holidays or any days, rushing with a drink in our shopping cart, when we could be somewhere sipping hot chocolate with a child. Or walking the downtown streets, admiring the lights. Or just sitting in the homes we are lucky to have, enjoying the warmth and safety we are lucky to feel.
