Last night as I was stopped at a red light on my way to the highway, my attention was was caught by a small flock of birds flying above the intersection. They flew left, then swooped down, then flew right, then climbed, then repeated everything over again. And over again. And over again. I thought to myself "crazy birds! Just pick a tree and land already!"
Almost as soon as I'd said it my head went somewhere else - it looked fun. Like a sky roller coaster. They looked carefree. They'd join up with another small flock and change the routine a bit, then divide and go back to the same swooping and climbing.
When did I become so cynical? When did I start seeing activity that seemed to have no purpose as a waste of time . . . even bird time? Sometimes the end result is not an accomplishment, but the purpose of the activity is the activity itself. I think that now that I have grandchildren, I will have to take a refersher course in how to not be so end-result driven. Grammys need to just be.
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This has been a eureka of mine lately too. I have to keep reminding myself to enjoy the time I have just enjoying my daughter and forgetting about the to do list.
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