Thom Gunn's poem 'Consider the snail' ends with the following words: 'imagine the slow passion to that deliberate progress'.
The universe canopy above, like the some backwater old one, may not know the exact age of its next birthday, admitting only by a give or take of a billion years or more. Sufficient to say that it's been around for 200 million lifetimes at least.
Our lovely planet is said to have circled the sun for at least 65 million lifetimes. Humans struggled to find life and meaning for the last estimated 3,000 lifetimes or so.
In our modern age, it is not unreasonable to manage breathing in and out consistently for eighty and more years.
So why are we impatient?
What in glory declaring nature around us inspires us to be so allergic to time?
Why are the gods we emulate frequently not the Internal God?
Why not take whatever time is left, and do something slowly.
And do it deliberately.
And do it passionately!