It was my own feelings that were in motion

When I am tidying up with my mother,
I sometimes suddenly realize something.

That the speed of our decision-making is completely different.

Most of the things in my parents' house
are not my own.

That is precisely why,

“This can go to the thrift store,”
“This looks like it could be donated,”

I am able to make decisions relatively quickly like that.

But my mother is different.

Every time she picks up a single item,
it looks as if she is retracing the time
she spent with that object all over again.

I think the “speed” I expect
and the “time” my mother needs
are different things from the very beginning.

Even so,
somewhere in my heart,
there is a part of me that wants to move things along faster.

When I look back at the places we have tidied,
there are spots where things were just moved from right to left.

From top to bottom,
places where only the position has changed.

Even if it looks organized,
the actual amount of stuff hasn't really changed.

When days like that continue,
“At this rate, when will we ever finish?”
that feeling quietly begins to surface.

If I proceed at my own pace,
my mother will surely feel rushed.

If I match my mother's pace,
it will take more time than I expect.

I think I understand
that it is not a simple matter
where I can just choose one or the other.

Even so,
my desire to respect my mother's feelings
never changes.

However, deep down within that thought,
I am also aware that the feeling of
“I want to get this over with quickly”
is quietly hiding.

Just as there are days when I want to be kind but cannot,
there are also days when I want to wait,
but feel like I might rush.

I thought I understood that tidying up
meant respecting my mother's pace.

But in truth,
it might be that I myself
am unable to let go of my own pace.

That is precisely why, right now,
I want to try and properly feel
what my mother's pace is like.