I lived my whole life in a hurry. I always looked toward something – the completion of a task, the earning of something, hitting a milestone….whatever lied ahead. Even in the toughest of times, I found a way to have hope.
Yet, it seems the fruits of that hope were always reserved for the future too. I sprinted toward the prize, but never slowed down enough to enjoy it, always on to the next, then the next.
Over the last year, I slowed down. I still tried to sprint some, especially in the first months of D/s, but I had no choice but to slow down, M wasn’t having any of that. I was missing so much, for so long. I saw what I was missing and could acknowledge it, but I wasn’t appreciating it, savoring the details. All the small things that make life so wonderful. I was too busy trying to ignore all that stuff that I’d stuffed away, worried I might have to face it if I gave myself enough time to really think. As I move along, I don’t stuff anymore, but that does lend itself to big feelings and lots of thinking. I’m trudging through it all and trying to savor each step in the path.
I don’t feel old, in fact, I feel younger than I have in years. I am, however, acutely aware of the passage of time. Of what it means and how I want to live my life.
I’m all done sprinting. And, I know if I try, even just a little, M is right here, with his hand on my waistband, slowing me down. Thank god.