a snail's life

I get a 'word-a-day' email. Today's word was "argillaceous" meaning "made of, resembling, or relating to clay: clayey." Sometimes the word is interesting or useful, but the thing I love the most about this email is that there is also a "thought for the day." These thoughts are rarely related to the word of the day, but are generally more meaningful to me. A few days ago, the following was the "thought for the day:"

How can a society that exists on instant mashed potatoes, packaged cake mixes, frozen dinners, and instant cameras teach patience to its young? -Paul Sweeney

It's an interesting question. I am one of the young people about whom Mr. Sweeney ponders.

Though my family rarely ate frozen dinners or mashed potatoes, instant or otherwise, we ate at restaurants on a regular basis in order to avoid the trouble of cooking after a long day at work or because we had to rush off to some other obligation so quickly that the prep time required for a full meal would not accommodate our plans. We are not an impatient people (both my parents work with special needs populations), but we are instead a busy people.

Products or services that expedite a process, such as the packaged cake mixes, dining out, computers, commercial airlines, dishwashers, etc., rarely are utilized because the outcomes of the process are improved, rather because the quickening of the process allows for more and more processes to be added to one's day. It's not that we're necessarily impatient, rather that we have created an endlessly demanding lifestyle for ourselves. I firmly believe that lifestyle is chosen, not demanded. There are countless people who make it joyfully through each day without the hustle and bustle (many of the ones I know are economically poor. interesting.); however, most of us are addicted to the initial rush and ultimate numbness that results from frenzy. When I have a particularly full day, I don't have the time to consider the implications of any single component. I just keep going and going and going. It is the unfull and unscheduled day that I feel the emptiness of my life of busy pursuits. It is these days that I feel the regret of rushing through a patient's appointment, not listening to their sorrows, because three other patients were waiting. It is the slow day, that I feel restless and paranoid, like I've missed something, instead of blessed to have a few moments of peace. Perhaps a better question for Mr. Sweeney is "How can a society that exists on instant mashed potatoes, packaged cake mixes, frozen dinners, and instant cameras teach contentment to its young?"

I've found that it is very important for me to intentionally slow myself down, not to learn patience but to learn worth and tranquility. Without deceleration, I have no time to reflect upon what it is I do each day, and then I am but a robot performing my intended function. Time and disciplined relection are necessary for me to be human, to contemplate and feel intensely, and to judge how I should live.