I was asking the people at the church last night (great people, by the way-thanks Walker!) what time I needed to leave my hotel to get to the airport to board my plane by 8:15. They all said between 5:00 and 5:30 am.

I left exactly between those times, at 5:15 on the nose.

And I got through security and was sitting down eating breakfast (grits with lots of butter… insert Homer Simpson drooling noise… ) before 7:00. Over an hour and a half early!

I should be happy about this. Now I have an hour and a half to get some work done. Or call Holly and Elijah and listen to him say Da Da and tell him I am bringing him back an Elmo toy (it’s not a doll, it’s a toy). Or just relax in general.

But I found myself kind of disappointed instead. Thinking about how I could have slept another hour. And how now I have to sit in the airport for an hour and a half and wait.

Never mind that now I’m sitting at a table with free wireless and an AC outlet drinking a nice cold Diet Coke with free refills. Never mind that I have a tummy full of grits and I will be watching the funny people run through the airport in just an hour frazzled and out of breath.

Never mind that if I would have left 30 minutes later, I probably would have gotten stuck in New Orleans traffic and longer security lines and possibly missed my flight.

I am upset that I missed out on the opportunity to hurry.

I think I’m addicted to hurry. I think my body likes the impulses that running around like a chicken with my head cut off creates. (What a bizarre colloquialism, by the way.)

I often feel like something’s wrong if I’m not running to catch up, or barely able to fit it all in. I don’t think that’s normal, even though it’s been normalized in our culture.

Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think we should all be sitting around listening to No Woman No Cry hitting the pipe (I can’t believe I just said that). I think it’s good to aggressively do the will of God every day. I am adamantly opposed to wasting time. It’s too precious. And slow drivers will always get on my nerves.
I just mean that with a little advance planning, I could probably eliminate a lot of the senseless scurry and be in a better mood. I would probably enjoy life more if I were less frantic.

Now I’ve got to go. I’ve got to hurry up and get some work done before this plane boards. Maybe I’ll sit at the restaurant until the last minute and run to the gate… for old times’ sake.