So I'm off again tomorrow morning, sailing again. We're doing a 2-weekend/6-race series, and I'm crewing on the first weekend. Three races in 2 days. The best part, though? I'm helping take the boat to the other side of the lake tomorrow! We'll just be out on the open lake, in what's predicted to be "breezy and 73". If it is, truly, then tomorrow will be a wonderful day.
Why do I always, always, leave too much to the last minute, though? Some of the joy in leaving is lost when I'm racing around the house like a madwoman, tired and hungry, and trying to pack my duffel, and Little Boy's suitcase, and make cookies for the weekend, and clean the fishtank, and change the cat litter, and do an unexpected load of laundry because my child threw a pillow into the fishtank "accidentally"...
I must be slightly mad.
I still haven't packed my duffel, though the intended contents are thrown into a laundry basket on my bedroom floor. And I haven't packed toiletries for myself or my child yet, though I did get our meds together and packed in separate bags.
And tomorrow morning I will take the carpool over to school, and then head straight to the boat.
So even if I'm stressed now, tomorrow will be lovely. I had trouble deciding which knitting project to pack! Seven hours cruising Lake Erie...no hurry, just time.
When did it become a commodity? When did we start putting a dollar value on our leisure time? What once was not even counted, except in hours by the local church bell has become something we fret over in micro-increments. How long will it take? How many minutes did that train take to go through? How late are you? How many nano-seconds does it take to load your computer? How many hours did it take to knit that?
I don't know.
I don't care.
Honestly. If I wanted to knit for pay, then maybe I'd care about shaving an hour or two off the knitting of a pair of socks. But do I really want to punch a clock every time I pick up my knitting while waiting for the doctor, or the train, or the analysis (yes, I knit between analyses, when I'm waiting for the instrument...)?
Do you care? Do you count the time it takes to knit something? I frequently get asked how long it takes me to knit a pair of socks. I usually counter with "I don't know. I tend to knit while waiting. What do you produce while waiting in line?" This summer I was teased at a family reunion for knitting while talking to people, and I told an older relative that we were both sitting there, talking, and at the end of the day I would have a sock, what would she have? Unfortunately, I'm using similar logic of putting value on time, i.e. your time in line is wasted and mine is productive.
Why do we worry about wasting time? What is wasting time? Is it yours to waste in the first place? Yes, I've heard the logic that we're all given the same number of hours in the day, and if you don't use them, you'll never have the chance to get them back...
I don't know about you, but my most enjoyable (and productive) days have been those in which I did not keep track of time, but simply did whatever I needed to, when I needed to or felt like doing it. Those seem to be my happiest days, as well. How many kids are happy when you keep reminding them what time it is? Are you happy watching the clock?
Maybe there's a reason God made no clocks, but simply allows us to monitor our days in large increments by position of the sun...
So I'm off, to live a life of leisure and clock-less joy. No, it's not all happy-go-lucky freedom and joyousness. Racing is hard work, and hurts at the end of the day. That's not the point. But the days I've felt the best have been those in which I live by my body clock and the sun.
I have trouble believing that life was meant to be timed.
Life is not a race.
We'll all get to the end of it, one way or the other.
I think I'll take mine without the clocks, thank you.