Have you ever run to a station only to miss the train by a handful of seconds? To push yourself, heaving for breath, another block, then another, heart pounding and brow dripping with sweat?

What an odd experience: rushing to wait.

One minute you have no minutes, the next second you have lots of seconds. Out of time, to time to waste. Hoping for more time, to wishing away time.

Sometimes my life feels like that, too. Rushing to wait. Always pushing, always striving, trying to get ahead, to advance, to set myself up for future happiness and success. And then suffocating boredom, endless time to use up. Days, weeks, months of living other people’s lives.

When will my life begin? What is my life? Or said differently, what will I make of my life?

Maybe I shouldn’t be rushing for a train that’ll take me somewhere I don’t want to go. Maybe I shouldn’t be taking a train at all.

Maybe I should be walking, onward, along a path of my own making, towards a horizon of my own choosing, journeying closer to a home I am making.

Then my time will be precious, each moment of it. No more rushing to wait; only savoring every moment for the gifts they truly are.