I have a problem with time. I always have. I blame being born in my mother’s sixth month of pregnancy. I came very early, undeveloped lungs, ready to sit for weeks and weeks in intensive care.
In a psychic way, making timely decisions has been a lifetime project. I have to convince myself that I have time, that I need not rush, that I need not choose immediately.
The belief that I have time is a day to day belief that I have to cultivate. I have to believe in this in order to live well, to make good decisions, to make better choices.
On one hand, I regularly tell myself that I don’t have to chose now. If I do, the choice is likely not worth my consideration. It’s a soft enough call that I’m making that the consequences will also be soft.
On the other hand, if there is a serious decision called for, I can trust my previous choices, my previous applications of wisdom, to choose with confidence. I need not be frozen and I need not be silly. I can be intentional either way, to not rush or to do what I think is best.