I remember running track, a billion years ago. I ran long distance, and wasn’t particularly good at it, but I did manage to finish the races without puking or walking halfway. Those were my standards of success. But I do remember every time I hit mile two I would say to myself, “OK, slow down a little or you won’t be able to finish.”
That’s been me my whole life, with everything I’ve ever done. I spring off the starting line with a bang, and then later down the road realize I better start pacing myself. So that’s what we’re doing around here. We’ve been working so hard, for so long, at home and at work. We’ve had paint projects and parties and outings and dinners and late work nights until we’ve hit our two mile point. It’s time to slow down and pace.
That’s what this weekend is for. We’re not going out with friends. We’re not painting a room. Or moving furniture. Or hanging curtains. We’re keeping close to home. We’re going to sit on the patio with Jane and blow bubbles. We’re going to eat at the table. Watch a movie. Maybe forget where we put our phones.
When I finally do remember to start pacing, I realize I really, really like it.