Each afternoon during my lunch break, I like to drive over to the park near my job, and eat my salad right there in my car. That way, it's easy to just jump out afterward and begin walking.
All around the park on the nicest days, people of all ages and speeds are out walking.
I walk quickly past an older couple in their 70s, and feel a pang of guilt, as if I'm showing off or something. I often send out a telepathic message to them that says, "I'm on my lunch break, so I have to keep moving quickly! Otherwise I'd walk slowly like you...not that you're walking slowly or anything!"
Very often I'll pass people who are right around the speed I prefer to go, so I have to speed up to get past them, then time it just right to start slowing back down to regular speed once I'm far enough in front. It's like a game, or a science. An art form really...the kind of art I hate.
The runners, though? They make me feel like an old slowpoke as they whir past me. "Oh, I used to walk," I imagine them telling me, "I used to just meander around like you, as slow as can be, but now I can do this." How rude! I admire them anyway though, and hope to some day join them!
No matter what speed we're all going though, fast or slow, we're all enjoying the trip. We all chose to go to this park and move around a bit. None of the people I see there live in the park, as far as I can tell, but whether it's from our homes or our jobs, we've all decided to take some time to be with nature. We've all made the time to move around this beautiful park, smell the freshness of late spring, and bask in the sunlight bursting through the treetops.
The speed with which we all move is irrelevant, and the time it takes me to get around the large path is neither better nor worse than the time it takes others. We're all just appreciating the park, and appreciating the blessings of time itself.
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