I talked to a co worker yesterday about the value of time. It seems like when summer starts to wind down, you realize that the year is almost over - then you try to figure out what you did with the time you had.
My piano teacher was talking about life inside of a retirement home. She said, "You'd think time would slow down at our age, but it doesn't. It goes faster." That caught me off guard. I've assumed that the later on in life you get, the slower the pace. I guess no matter how fast you travel, there will always be twenty-four hours in a day.
I'm the world's most efficient procrastinator. My actions seem to always be contingent upon upcoming factors, "When this happens, I'll do this." I said that when it got warm enough this year, I'd like to camp almost every weekend. I've gone once and I'm pushing the next trip out until September.
For the last few years I've thought that my life's mission will work itself out once I have someone to share my life with. Obviously, a very backwards approach. An approach that could very seriously hinder an accurate or fulfilling fit while wasting countless days that could be spent breaking serious ground.
Self-inflicted waiting games are well disguised thieves. They'll swat you over the head with meaningless excuses and crank the gears on the clock harder and harder. They leave you standing in the hallway at work with your cup of coffee saying, "Can you believe it's almost September?"
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