As of last Friday, I am no longer hurrying.

I’d love to tell you it’s because I started yoga class again after being away for a year. Or because I began meditating again to become more aware of the present moment.

The real reason is this: I tore off my side-view mirror at Cookout. (Geez, that was one more expensive cheeseburger….)

I was in a hurry and just wasn’t paying attention. I placed my order, pulled over to the right to get closer to the drive-thru window, and tried at the same time to take my money out of my wallet. BAM! All I could do is roll down my passenger window, throw the mirror inside and head over to Tommy’s to see what I needed to do next. (By the way, Tommy is at Mission Valley and has worked on my cars for more than 10 years – he is awesome.)

On the way home, I thought to myself: Why are we always hurrying? It seems that everyone is walking fast, driving fast, and talking fast, and I am no exception. Is it just that everyone else is hurrying, so I think I need to hurry, too? Even if I am not on a deadline or late for a meeting?

Friday I went to Harris Teeter after work, and I watched. Everyone (except older people with mobility issues) seemed to be hurrying. One woman shoved her cart down the aisle like she was on a game show, trying to win a prize at the end of the row. One man had his phone cradled against his shoulder, talking while throwing frozen meals into a basket. A young couple talked fast to each other, grabbing beer and ice, while dropping chips on the floor.

I walked slowly….and I liked it. I could actually take a few minutes to think about what I needed. I smelled the fruit in the produce section. I heard the song on the overhead speaker, realizing I had probably never really paid attention to what is being played while we shop. I smiled at people. (They probably thought I was drunk.)

I realized something – the problem with all this hurrying is we are missing the rich textures of life: the smells, sounds, colors, and people. It’s hard to connect with others when our goal is simply to get around them and go on. Why have we become so impatient that we unknowingly let a door close in someone’s face? Who did this to us? Who convinced us that we needed to hurry that much?

The next day, I sat at a green light, waiting for a woman to cross the street so I could turn right. In the past, I would have been impatiently saying in my head: Come on, come on…. This time I counted; it took her ten seconds. Ten seconds. How ridiculous to think I ever failed to understand that in ten seconds someone can safely cross a street and I can be on my way.

So, for only the cost of a new side-view mirror, I found a new way to live my life. Thanks, Cookout.