tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10246967.post-60690396508966190002008-04-28T21:19:00.003-04:002008-05-08T12:16:54.504-04:00Today was the first weekday since we returned from vacation. While Mary went back to work, I did the things I needed to do, little of which involved making money. Picking up the car at the shop, a physical therapy session, shopping, banking, making copies, seeing a friend, walking the dog, making dinner---the day was full.<br /><br />Despite the fullness of the day, nagging voices in my head questioned my motives and my commitments. Why didn't I do more? Why wasn't I more productive? What more could be done?<br /><br />A few hours with a dear friend who lives at a Buddhist retreat center helped to quell those voices. My friend reminded me that I only stopped working full-time three months ago after twelve years of working forty hours a week. When I consider twelve years of work in one hand and three months of my current state of being in the other, I'm reminded (by myself and others---including my gracious wife) that I need to cut myself some slack.<br /><br />This culture demands such productiveness from us, so much so that it can be one's undoing. There is little time or space for simply being, and simply being is a notion---and a practice---that it would behoove me to cultivate.Keith, RNhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03581947410641941224noreply@blogger.com