Ellington Parkway and other shortcuts

I’m an impatient driver. This isn’t really news to anyone who’s ridden with me before. I like to drive and I don’t mind other drivers. I just don’t like traffic. You know, drivers in packs.

Because of this, I am armed with a backstreet knowledge of Nashville. (Not the kind that could get me arrested, mind you. I just know my way around.) One such shortcut is Ellington Parkway, which I take when driving from Music Row to Madison. It slices right up through East Nashville and eludes the congestion of the other two major routes north. It has helped me get to my Tuesday staff meeting at the church under the wire more than a few times with my car and my sanity intact. I like Ellington Parkway.

I work in a cafe where I make lattes and sandwiches for attorneys, bankers, accountants and other suit-wearing folk. I experience heavy sighing, foot tapping, watch checking, weight shifting, even line jumping practically every day. This isn’t elementary school lunch line behavior, friends. This is the impatience of well-paid, highly educated people who have somewhere else they have to be or want to be. Right now. They stress me out.

I realize I often act like I’m in a hurry myself, even when I’m not. Instead of a sunset, I see an orange and blue blur in my rear view mirror. Instead of having a conversation with a friend, I send a text message. Instead of reading a great book, I wait for the movie. I drive fast out of habit and wring as much out of a day as I can.

But the truth is...
I wanna take the long way.
Take my own sweet time.
Take a deep breath.

I think God tries to impress me with things sometimes, but I’m too busy dashing hither and yon to notice. My frantic pace costs me. And I’m disappointed that it’s come to this. God probably is too. I need to write more, read more, listen more, play more, rest more. Be more.

So I’m taking time to sit outside in the beauty of a late August afternoon to breathe, pray, think and write this blog.

Whew.

So asking as one chronic speed demon to another, can you tell me...

What’s your hurry?

Counting things

Lately I find myself counting a lot.

I'm counting calories. You see, I'd like to lose about 15 pounds before most of you see me again. Bum knees have kept me less active than I'd like to be this summer and my waistline is paying for that. Knees'll be fixed soon, but I'm watching my diet for now. And not just watching it disappear from my plate and end up as a spare tire.

I'm counting pennies. Of course, you probably are too. Because of the aforementioned knees and the getting them fixed, I'll be missing some work next month. But even if I weren't trying to save up for those recovery days coming up, I'd need to be cutting back. The list of things to save for is long. And expensive.

The thing is, while I was watch my waistline grow and my bank account shrink, I sometimes forget that I count. You know, not just as a number or a name on a list someplace. But as a bona fide, honest-to-goodness heart and soul. A viable contributor to my planet, my city, my friends and my family.

And you do too.

So next time you feel like counting...
the things you do for other people that go
underappreciated or unnoticed
the things about your life or yourself you wish were
different
the times you've been disappointed, disillusioned or
dismissed

try counting...
the things you do and give to make things better for
someone else
the things about your life and yourself that are pretty
darn cool
the reasons you belong here with the rest of us, making
a difference in the world right where you are.


Go ahead.
Count.