Are You Taking Time or Wasting Time?

On Taking Time…

“I don’t have time”, “I’m too busy”, I’d like to, but I simply can’t”

That has pretty much been my standard answer for the last few years and with that, a lot of guilt and a lot of stress, too.

But it seemed unavoidable.  I was on a hamster wheel I could not get off.  “When do I come up for air?” “When does this all stop?”  Now some things must simply be done: sleeping, showering, food preparation, picking up kids, supervising homework.  Typical day: kids were hustled off in the morning, I went to my business, I’d get home about 7:30 pm.  If I was really organized, I might have thought about putting something in the slow cooker but a lot of the time, I just ordered in (yes, my fault).  I had about 2 hours to fix supper, eat, check school work, read bedtime stories…and then maybe wind down (not!).  I wanted to get organized but could never seem to ‘catch up’.  Weekends were booked with various commitments (sometimes work).  Sadly, I am not exceptional; many people have that kind of schedule and many of their own choosing.  In fact, a century ago, the average industrial worker spent 10 to 12 hours a day at work.  Contemporary research has found that the average American worker spends only 35 hours a week working and devotes more time to leisure and personal pursuits than to work, while considering himself very busy.  Many people are so caught up in daily routine and personal concerns that “the cares of this world” start to stifle them and they become unproductive.

The Greek philosopher Epictetus observed: “Aiming therefore at such great things, remember that you must not allow yourself to be carried, even with a slight tendency, towards the attainment of lesser things.”

I was suffering, my family was suffering.  I had to stop, slow down, quit fretting, and take time to enjoy life.

One day I was at a craft show and met a crafter who explained that she had been in the corporate life, lived downtown in a condo and then one day, sold it all, moved to the country and for the last 20 years has made ceramic fairy dolls as her sole source of income.  Wow!  Imagine doing that.

I was a bit envious.  Could I ever be as brave as her?  I wasn’t sure, but inspired by her, I decided to do small things in smaller steps.  I said to myself, metaphorically, “I want to make fairies, too!”

Step 1) I thought about my business and how it was structured.  Did I actually need a retail location?  Could I work it a different way, say, from home?  through the internet?  direct contact with my customers?  When my lease came due, I moved my store to virtual.

Step 2) My long hours might still be the same and I knew I might be working when the rest of the house was asleep, but I was determined to block off 7-8:30 am and 4:00-7:00pm.  I actually cook supper.

Step 3) On organizing the family chores, calendar, and personal space–still working on this but getting better.

So am I stressed?  Who isn’t?  But I’m happier because I’m better control of my time and the family sees more of me.  It’s a close to ‘fairyland’ as I’ve gotten.  Through this I kept thinking of a nursery rhyme, the last two lines reverberating in my head:

I hope that my child, looking back on today

Will remember a mother who had time to play;

Because children grow up while you’re not looking,

There are years ahead for cleaning and cooking.

So, quiet now cobwebs, dust go to sleep.

I’m rocking my baby, and babies don’t keep.

–Anon

Lianne Harris Racioppo

A Story of Derailed Destiny

I think I’ve coined this new phrase, “Derailed Destiny”. 

Meaning:  believing yourself set on one path, you lament and curse, “why me”? when circumstances beyond your control take you in another unforeseen direction.  But wait!  Time proves that this was really the direction you were meant to take.

Derailed Destiny No.1—“JungFrau” (A quick illustration from my life)

I was a teenager in Switzerland travelling with my parents through Europe.  It was my dad’s goal to ascend to top of the highest mountain in the Swiss Alps, Jungfrau.  We zigzagged across the country, ever waiting for this most anticipated event of our Swiss sojourn.

Swiss people were always helpful and honest and so it was with surprise when, at the ticket booth at the bottom of Jungfrau, the clerk was rude and dismissive and refused to confirm that our tickets were indeed the right tickets to take the tram to the station at the very top of the mountain.  Annoyed, we boarded the train.

The scenery, as expected, was magnificent.  A view from the top could only get better, we thought.  As we paid the full amount, we relaxed knowing our stop was the end of the line.

The ticket man came around to check our tickets and declared our stop was next, second from the top.  Not the top? This was an outrage!  We’d paid for the full deal!  But no, the tickets said otherwise and we were unceremoniously escorted to the door and dropped off to a backwater station somewhere on the side of the mountain with nothing around except a chain gang of Italian convicts dressed in bright yellow, repairing the track.  We craned our eyes and neck to look up and see what we were missing.  Could we see Jungfrau’s top?  No.  Our angle wasn’t right.  The weather had turned gray.  At our little stop it was dull and cold and dirty ice covered the brown bare patches of dead grass. 

Disappointment was an understatement.  There was nothing to do but wait for the next train going back.  I decided to explore but couldn’t really see the point—everything to see was right in front of me.

Of course, I really wanted to start walking north up to the top but I could see no path and the convicts were in the way.  So I had no choice but to explore in the opposite direction I wanted to go: south.

I followed a glacial flow that took me along and down ‘around the corner’ of a large outcropping.  And what did I see?  Something worthy of the Sound of Music and Heidi all wrapped up in one: a panoramic view of other mountains, lush and green, with clusters of alpine chalets dotting the slopes in the distance.  Up high on the mountain sides and down in the valley I could see herds of black and white cows grazing contentedly.  I could even hear cow bells from across the valley.  I half expected a little blonde kid in braids to come skipping around a jagged boulder, around the base of which grew copious amounts of yellow flowers, buttercups perhaps.  Had I broke into song, and holding up my imaginary dirndl skirt swung around in a circle, you’d forgive me.  The view was a wonder.

I turned around and looked back up to where I had been at that lousy little train station.  It was out of view.  No matter; the day had turned drearier still and low cloud cover had enveloped the entire peak in an impenetrable mist.  The fog stopped a few meters from where I stood.

I smiled at the irony of it all and I knew then I was never meant to get to the top of the mountain.

Lianne Harris Racioppo