Something in the backyard caught my attention as I sat on our deck trying to focus on a writing project.
A doe had wandered into my peripheral vision.
I noticed something else as I glanced up from my laptop screen. A fawn stood quietly near the edge of the trees, roughly five yards from its mother and partially hidden from sight.
This moment may have been missed had I not looked up when I did.
Sure, this deer encounter only lasted a few minutes, but it got me thinking about something that living with Multiple Sclerosis has taught me about time over the years.
Almost everything takes longer to do than it once did.
People living with a chronic illness know this far too well. A task that once took a few minutes may now require considerably more time because it takes much more planning, energy, and recovery.
Activities that appear simple on the surface often involve much more behind the scenes, whether it's preparing a meal, attending an appointment, visiting family, going to church, or simply getting ready for the day.
For my wife, Jennifer (she also has MS), and me, even something as routine as showering requires a significant investment of time and energy. We help one another. We plan ahead. We pace ourselves.
What used to feel automatic now requires intention. For years, I viewed this as something I needed to master and overcome.
My competitive tendencies took over, and I compared how quickly I could complete tasks to how quickly I used to. No matter how hard I pushed myself, I was always falling short of expectations that no longer matched my reality.
I measured myself against an old version of me who no longer existed. Sometimes I compared myself to people who weren't navigating chronic illness at all.
It was such a frustrating way to live, but I eventually realized the problem wasn't that things took longer.
The problem was that I kept expecting them not to.
Over time, I began to see acceptance didn't mean that I was giving up on myself, lowering personal expectations, or abandoning my goals. It simply meant recognizing reality and extending myself the same grace I would readily offer someone else.
Living with MS often means building extra time into the day and understanding that an outing may require recovery afterward. It means acknowledging that fatigue is not a character flaw and that moving more slowly is not the same thing as moving backward.
I get it. This way of thinking isn’t easy in a culture that celebrates speed, efficiency, and productivity.
There is something to be learned from slowing down. Because when life moves at a different pace, we sometimes notice things we otherwise would have missed.
Like seeing not only a deer in our backyard, but also noticing the fawn that followed in its mother's footsteps.
Like making time for a meaningful conversation or a quiet moment with someone we love. Like pausing to create or appreciate an unexpected act of kindness.
Don’t get me wrong. I still would choose a life without MS if given the opportunity. But living with MS has taught me that there is a difference between rushing through life and moving forward through it.
One prioritizes speed. The other prioritizes presence.
So if it takes me longer than it used to for me to complete tasks because of my MS, so be it.
I am reminded every now and then that some of life's most meaningful moments reveal themselves only when we stop hurrying long enough to look up and see them, even if they're standing quietly near the edge of the trees.