De-pressure

How come we press and rush ourselves so much?

As we choke up the hours

with endless tasks and to-do’s,

unrepeatable instants,

irreplaceable days and decades vanish.

Could it be because something or someone requires

that we do the possible and the impossible,

as soon as possible,

to deserve the permission

of the privilege of living?

Aren't there ways

that are less violent, less forced,

more sustainable, more wise

of living until dying?

Who do we ask permission

to slow down?

Who do we apologize to

for turning in fifteen, instead of fifty,

or the full fifty-five?

If life is gifted by grace,

how can those of us who have been graced

live with less groaning and more grace?