The Alleged Urgency of Time Here in the U. S.

Although I am in a most busy season of life finishing a dissertation, teaching five classes, participating in two discussion groups, and being pregnant - I have found time to read a non-philosophy book for pleasure. I'm reading Ryszard Kapuscinski's "The Shadow of the Sun," albeit at a VERY leisurely pace. It is a Polish man's journey of forty years in Africa, recounting details of everyday life there. At this time, I am still towards the beginning of the book. But, one observation I've gleaned from the book is just how different Africans conceive time. They're not constantly running around all over the place, in a mad rush to get here or there. I've experienced the constant hussle and bustle of everyday life activities here in the U.S., in Taiwan, and in Hong Kong. A good friend from England, Richard, also seems to run a rather hectic life, constantly running from place to place, from moment to moment. Is that the good life, though? Is that the sort of life that is worth living? One of my best friends, Christine, from time to time, will point out how much activity I have jammed packed in my daily life. By making such an observation known to me, she means no ill will. But, at times, I must confess, I have overcommitted myself. What is the result of this? I am exhausted and worn to the bone, with not a moment's stillness. Here, in the Valley (Rio Grande Valley, deep in the bowels of Texas), we're very close to Mexico. One event that Hispanics near or from Mexico (what's the PC term here?) are known from is a siesta. And, since coming here, I noticed that things move at a much slower pace. When I first arrived here, I found out that only one person at the City of Edinburg handles service to where I live. I needed to get a trash receptacle when we first moved here, and on one occasion, I happened to phone when the only gal that handles service to our area was on lunch break. To say the least, I was unsuccessful in getting a trash bin delivered that day. Took a few more days to have it delivered. To return to the point for which I brought up "The Shadow of the Sun," at one time, Kapuscinski describes waiting for a bus to begin its route. The amount of time in which a person has to wait each time for this bus to begin its route varies, according to how long the bus takes to fill with people. At one time, a character in the book had to wait two hours for the bus to begin its journey. Passengers on the bus simply were undisturbed by the amount of time they had to wait. I'm getting the impression that that's simply an instance of how life is lived in Africa. Though at first glance (and at second glance) that seems counterproductive, something about taking one's time to do just about anything, without feeling like one is racing for time, seems very appealing to me.