There seem to be two reoccurring situations in my life where the phrase "just a minute" becomes a never-ending mantra to which I cling desperately.
The first is with my kids. When the inevitable chant of "Mommy, I..." begins...oh, you know the one. It goes something like this: "Mommy, I'm hungry. Mommy, I'm thirsty. Mommy, I want to watch a movie. Mommy, I want to go to the park. Mommy, I want a fruit snack. Mommy, I need to go potty. Mommy, turn the light off. Mommy, open the door. Mommy, close the door." When that begins, my answering lifeline is "Just a minute."
Now, I'll be honest. When I say "just a minute" to my kids, what I really mean is, "I'm hoping I can finish up whatever it is I'm doing before I get to grabbing that third sucker that's going to end up on the carpet or the glass of milk that will end up curdled under your bed." That minute means a currently undetermined length of time that might stretch to infinity if I'm lucky. I'm usually not.
The second is with my workouts. Twice a week I do a high intensity interval training session in which I do a one-minute-on, one-minute-off routine of high intensity exercises like jumping jacks or speed skaters. And when I'm in the one-minute-on, all I say over and over is, "It's just a minute, just a minute, just a minute." And I struggle to not glance over at the timer every two seconds to see just how much of that minute is left.
What amazes me is how the same amount of time can be so different considering the situation. When I'm delaying responding to the constant (and often unnecessary) demands of my children, those sixty seconds race by faster than the speed of light. When I'm working out, struggling for breath and dripping sweat, those sixty seconds are interminable. They never seem to end.
If you're looking for an overall point to all this, well, there really isn't one. Just that time really is relative, even in the mundane day-to-day. That's all I got.
Until next time....
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