I’ve been going nonstop lately. This is unusual for me because I like to take things slowly, revel in the space between moments. I’ve noticed that I increasingly feel rushed. Time feels like grains of sand slipping between my fingers, as if I’m perpetually late. I notice it in the way I walk, how strolls turn into brisk walks. I notice it in the way I think, how daydreaming has become stressful, efficient logistics sorting. While I can appreciate my survival instinct to adapt to high-stress environments, I don’t want this version to stay for too long. I fear I might lose the part of myself that knows how to slow down.