One form my anxiety takes is that I never think I have enough time to do what I have to do. In the beginning of the day I’ll imagine everything I’ll get done, (usually an impossible amount of work,) then when I can’t finish it all I start to panic. Or, I’ll give myself a self imposed time limit based on… I don’t know what. Tonight I told myself I’d finish by 6:00. At a a few minutes to six, as I was stitching the last potholder, the bobbin ran out. Of course it did, it always does. Instead of panicking I decided to do something different. I put the potholder aside for tomorrow and walked over to my shelf and started to rearrange it.
I began with the spools of thread ,then moved to the bottom shelf, creating a story that I didn’t consciously understand. Last, I moved the dried hollyhock ladies in with the teacups and bones. I don’t know how long it took. I was in what my friend Serena calls Artful Time. Those moments when one is so present in the actions of the moment, that regular time morphs.
I’m not completely sure why, but when I was done, I felt calmer. I imagine it has something to do with the meditative quality of rearranging and the lack of pressure involved in just moving things around. Or maybe Artful Time is my natural state of my mind. Maybe it’s everyones true time and the world would be a different place if we all existed in it.