My Time

I was having one of those not-enough-hours-in-a-day days this week. A series of them actually – Monday through Wednesday to be exact – where I just wasn’t feeling like I was getting anything of purpose done. Where I’d look at the clock and it’d be 5 p.m. and nothing on my must-do creative list was crossed off. So frustrating.

Then yesterday, Thursday, I pulled one of the cards out of the deck that Alex gave me for my birthday – a deck of playing cards, each one with a word on it to serve as a mini canvas, one for each week of the year. 52 cards in a deck, 52 weeks in a year, 52 years of living under my belt. Here are a few images to give you the gist.

52 Deck cover              20160303_131247              Rules card for 52 Deck

The card I drew this week was ‘time‘. Hmmm…interesting given my state of mind, I said to myself as I set it aside to work on later.

Then right after that, like immediately I tell you, I was rifling through some file folders and stumbled upon an old collection of poetry I’d written. The first one I yanked out was dated March 1999 with the title: My Time. Here it is:

My Time

I try to stay ahead of it, then waste it, kill it

And try desperately to make more of it. 

I give it away as though it were infinite

Then marvel that there’s none left. 

I spend it ruminating and fantasizing and 

hanging on to that which is long gone. 

I fill it with joy and truth 

and it multiplies before my eyes. 

So yeah, there you go. PAY ATTENTION, ELLEN! There’s plenty of time to do the things I love to do – the creative, purposeful things – as long as I let go of this panicked worry that there isn’t enough juxtaposed with the belief that I can whittle it away mindlessly. An inner conflict that gets me to 5 p.m. feeling empty. 

Most days I’m in my flow. And by ‘flow’ I mean I pay close attention to time. Not in a control-freak sort of way, but in a mindful state of what-feels-right-to-do-next sort of way. I breathe, scan my written or mental list, FEEL what stirs my gut, and do that. Then when that’s done, I do it again – breathe, scan, feel, do. And again and again and again. It’s as close as I can come right now to defining what living in the present moment means to me.

As I wrote this post, I remembered a similar writing I did a few years ago – Insights on Balance. Perhaps I leave all of these little breadcrumb clues in the way of filed poems, blogs and birthday cards to find my way back to myself when needed. Very clever, Conscious Ellen.

Time

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Regina Leffers McCaleb, Ph.D.

Master Teacher, Midwife to the Birth of the Wild Soul

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