Tipping the Scales [jessi]

Who has time to accomplish everything they set out to during the day? Maybe more people out there are better at time management, and more realistic in their goal setting than I am (in fact, I'm positive that this is the case). Nevertheless, there must be some people who can relate to hitting the pillow every night with a sense of failure lurking in the dark because nothing on that ever-increasing list is getting done, and there doesn't seem to be a way to change that. All you can do is continue to hope for a better day tomorrow.

There are 168 hours in a week. 40 of mine are spent at work. 45-50 spent sleeping. This leaves me with 78 free hours, more or less. We all have commitments outside of work and sleep, but even so, 78 hours is a significant chunk of time. Somehow, in those "free" hours this week, I haven't found the time to put away the clean laundry that I pulled from the dryer and dumped in the laundry basket in the middle of my floor last Thursday. And trust me, that isn't all I haven't found time for (pardon my double negative), but listing more would require me to meditate again on everything I haven't done. It's depressing. And in the face of such frustrations, I've been searching for some calm.

40 days ago I was sitting on a bit of ruin on Palatine Hill. I know, Palatine sounds a lot like the name of a Star Wars character, but it's actually the foundation of the city of Rome; the centermost of the storied Seven Hills. Compared with other circus-like touristy destinations nearby, like the Roman Forum and the Colosseum, Palatine is very quiet. In the heart of one of the world's oldest cities, I sat above the noise. Out of earshot of traffic, and out of reach of the vendors hawking plaster miniatures of Michaelangelo's David and the guys dressed up like Roman soldiers who loaf about the Colosseum. It was downright peaceful—a shock to the system after 10 days of busy travel and sight seeing. I found that on vacation I was having some of the same struggles that I have in real life—filling empty space with busyness. I sat for a while on the corner of an ancient foundation and wrote:

Others pass through; I bask in the sun, feet resting on brick laid by hand thousands of years ago. Others pass through, stopping only to take a self portrait with the house where Augustus was born in the background. I am finally content to see less, and see it well. To live slowly in the Eternal City. I've walked myself off my feet, hitting every tourist destination, and using words like "Marathon" and "Push on through", and "Do" as in: "We'll do the Vatican, push on though to St. Peter's Basilica, and cap off our Marathon with the Crypt of the Cappucin Monks."

What a dumb plan. Today I'll take a fresh breeze, warm sunshine, and a rock older than St. Paul.

Giving up the chance to stand where Charlemagne was crowned for that moment of peace in the sunshine was maybe the only smart thing I've done recently. I've been mulling over how to re-create these retreat-like moments in my every day, and it has been very tempting to blow off my commitments and make myself into a recluse. But would that really bring peace? I've been reading through Thomas Merton's Thoughts in Solitude and on the first page he says, "There is no greater disaster in the spiritual life than to be immersed in unreality, for life is maintained and nourished in us by our vital relation with realities outside and above us…the death by which we enter into life is not an escape from reality but a complete gift of ourselves which involves total commitment to reality."

How do I find the balance between running myself ragged, and running away?