But in my life, time is most often something I seek to manage, or something I resent—something, it seems, that I never have enough of. In my frenetic life, I forget how to slow down and wait. For the good of my own soul I need to feel what it’s like to wait, to let the moments march past. And here I am, plunged into an ancient spiritual practice in the middle of the freeway—forced, against my will, to practice waiting.
