Slow down, you move too fast
You got to make the morning last
Just kicking down the cobblestones
Looking for fun and feeling groovy
Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy
—The 59th Street Bridge Song, Paul Simon
This song was released in 1966. I was two years old. However, I distinctly remember learning the song in 4th grade, which would have been 1973. I had a groovy fourth-grade teacher who had thick, dark, wavy hair. I can trace my love for writing, drawing, singing, and all things creative directly back to this small classroom in California. I was only there for seven months, as we moved to Colorado on Spring Break, but those seven months set me on a life course of making things up and finding beauty and awe in everyday life.
I remember crying when my mom informed me that I had been selected to attend the school and would be leaving all my friends. But changing schools and meeting that 4th-grade teacher, Ms. Rhodes, remains one of the greatest gifts of my life. I wanted to be like her—I was her.
Why did this memory pop up this morning? I guess I have California on my mind. A couple of days ago, we visited some friends who have a swimming pool that reminded me of the swimming pool we had in the backyard of my childhood home. It stirred memories of walking barefoot on wet concrete, spending long days in itsy-bitsy bikinis, with my sun and chlorine-bleached hair in a constant tangled mop.
That was back when the days were long. When the time between a bowl of Lucky Charms and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich seemed like forever. Back when I couldn’t wait for my next birthday, or Christmas, or Easter.
A boy named Jack
We’d spend hours, back when the days were long
Building castles, poking sticks down in the mud
Sharing lunch from a paper sack
Friends forever, we’d made a pact
That boy named Jack
So what changed? A day is still made up of 24 hours, but somehow it feels shorter—like I don’t have enough time. Maybe it’s because I have so many more options now than I did when I was nine. For one thing, I can drive. Dr. Seuss was spot on when he said, “You're off to Great Places! You're off and away! You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose.” But what he failed to mention was leaving time for talking to lampposts, watching flowers grow, and feeling groovy.
Hello lamppost, what'cha knowing
I've come to watch your flowers growin'
Ain't you got no rhymes for me?
Doo-ait-n-doo-doo, feeling groovy
Ba da-da da-da da-da, feeling groovy
In a conversation with my sister a few months ago, she suggested I try the mindfulness practice of doing one thing. In other words, no multitasking. It didn’t sound like a big deal at all, as I was sweeping the floor and talking to her with my earbuds in. Even though she couldn’t see me, she knew my full attention wasn’t on the conversation—maybe she could hear the broom. I don’t know. But she gently continued, “It’s harder than you think.”
So I’ve been trying it now and then—just doing one thing and keeping my attention focused on that thing I’m doing—washing dishes, driving, or even listening to the words being spoken by another human being—just listening, and not thinking about what I will say next. Turns out, she was right. It’s not only harder than I thought, but it goes against the grain of everything I have been working to achieve in the decades since I got my driver’s license. Through the years, I’ve created some deep-rooted habits. But in my defense, I’ve been going places, just like Dr. Seuss said I would.
Life itself dances, for what else are trees, ferns, butterflies, and snakes but elaborate forms of dancing? —Alan Watts
However, another truth I know deep inside is that less is more. The straight line of checking things off a list is not always the best way to get from here to there. But, thankfully, it’s never too late to make a few adjustments, which means leaving some wiggle room—it’s essential and groovy.