Every morning from Monday through Friday, it seems that I'm forever hurrying. Climbing out of bed with a start, knowing that even a five-minute snooze will put me behind schedule. Jumping in the shower, scrubbing myself off quickly, not taking a moment to soak in the refreshing steam from the hot water. Shoveling spoonful after spoonful of cereal into my mouth so I can hustle out the door to my car. I drive to the train station on pins and needles, certain that today will be the day that I miss my train. Though one red light here or there has never made me late to my knowledge, I still groan in frustration as I see the light turn from green to yellow on the near horizon. I don't start my days with a particularly positive or peaceful outlook.
I think we could all take a cue from Lee Smith. The classic image of the former all-time major league leader in saves is one of leisure. The call would go out to the bullpen for the righty, and he would come sauntering out through the door in center field, jacket in hand. He wouldn't run, because the game wasn't going to resume without him. He wouldn't jog or even power-walk. He would just stroll out to the mound, barrel chest resting on top of long, powerful legs, completely in control of himself and his surroundings. It was as if he was saying, "Here I am. What have you got for me?".
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