festina lente

I’ve always thought that if I could view my DNA below the micromolecular level, there would be two distinct ribbons.

The strand I inherited from Carl Thompson (I’d know it by the blue bibbed overalls) would be calmly making its way from Point A to Point B, quietly carrying a well-calculated payload.

The strand donated by Arlene Atwell would be racing from A to B in record time, but would also be stopping a dozen times along the way to change a baby, bake a pie, hoe a garden or transport an ailing neighbor eight miles west to see the doctor, pick up groceries at HyVee, run by Corydon State Bank and–because she knew they were having a hard time–stop off for an ice cream cone at The Windmill on the way back to Promise City.

Which pretty much explains why my life rhythm looks like it does. I got equal parts Zen and Zowie! And while I am deeply grateful for them both, they make for some interesting times. Especially now, as I encounter the changing rhythms that come with 60-plus.

And that’s why my new favorite phrase is festina lente. I do not speak Latin beyond what I’ve picked up from my personal reading or absorbed through my medical writing. But I do know this means “Make haste slowly.” It refers to staying focused but proceeding with careful action and a timing true to one’s own being.

Progress with purpose.

I can live with that.

Photo credit: Wikipedia. Animation of the structure of a section of DNA. The bases lie horizontally between the two spiraling strands.


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