Wednesday morning, the red light at the crosswalk felt endless

On Wednesday morning I was standing at the crosswalk in front of my office. The light was red, and across the street a line of people had already gathered. I took out my phone, put it back in my pocket, then took it out again. There was nothing to check, but my hand kept moving.

Maybe it was because we were in the middle of the week, but my mind was always running ahead of me. The last page of the ten o'clock meeting slides was still empty, and I imagined yesterday's unfinished work sitting on my desk exactly as I had left it. I tried to count my tasks in order, and every time I got tangled at the second one. Even during the five minutes from the subway exit to here, my head had not rested. The red light felt as if it had no intention of changing, and my toes were already half a step out toward the road. The coffee in my hand had gone lukewarm without my noticing. A cold morning wind slipped in at my sleeve.

A moment of standing still before crossing

While I waited for the signal, it occurred to me that hurrying would not make the light change any faster. My hurrying mind was already far ahead in the meeting room, while my body was still standing right here. Bringing those two back together seemed to be something I could do.

So I put my phone in my pocket, opened still(), and decided to read only today's verse.

“Be still, and know that I am God. I will be exalted among the nations. I will be exalted on the earth.”

Psalm 46:10 (WEB)

The words "Be still" sounded low and slow today. They sounded as if the work could stay where it was, and for these few dozen seconds I was allowed to stand there holding nothing. That was when I noticed I was gripping the coffee cup hard. I let my breath out and slowly loosened my fingers. A student waiting right next to me had a little music leaking from his earphones. I only heard it then.

When the light turned green, the people began to move. I crossed at a slightly slower pace than usual. I decided to sit down and fill in the last slide for ten minutes first. If I could not finish it, I would walk in with it unfinished, but I would think about that when the time came. In front of the convenience store across the street someone was unloading boxes, and a bicycle rolled slowly past. It was a scene I passed every day, but today I noticed each part of it. As my foot touched the sidewalk on the other side, I took a sip of the cold coffee.

Today's breath — While waiting, count three breaths instead of checking the phone.