I have been mighty stressed of late because of (surprise surprise) work. Sometimes (actually many times) I wonder why I care so much, why I get so harassed when I cannot complete my tasks. After all, when we are minutes away from breathing our last, what really matters isn't how many tasks we've completed or by when, but who our lives impacted and how.
I was somehow reminded of this when I saw a tiny pair of pale pink shoes left in the middle of a carpeted lounge, abandoned for happy, carefree, barefooted pursuits. What I would give to feel that way again.
