Celerity: (n) swiftness of movement.
I will risk being considered ignorant or out of touch by telling you that I had absolutely no idea what this word meant when it popped up on my screen. But fortunately for me, the definition was very straight-forward: swift movement.
I admire those who are fleet of foot, due mostly to the ever-lightness of their being. I’ve always been a heavy-set chap (which is what I will
write in this article to escape calling myself “fat,” making you think I have diminished self-esteem).
During my brief stint of playing football, the coach ordered us to do windsprints. For me, it was more “wind” than “sprint.” I was always gasping for air as my lighter brothers glided by me as if propelled by the wings of Mercury.
The advantage of being swift is being able to get a lot of things done, as they say, lickety-split.
So since I do not have celerity, it falls my duty to take my brain and teach it to be “celeritous.” (Perhaps not a word, but willing to adapt.)
I developed a swift mind.
I learned how to abandon bad ideas quickly so they wouldn’t clutter my path.
I tried to rid myself of forlorn, discouraged and upset feelings, which only slow down progress.
I developed a sense of good cheer–which is an understanding that expecting help is the doorway to making sure that nothing gets done.
I found out what I could do, how to do it, and to make it fun–and then did it with celerity.
I have never run fast in my life. I have never won a swimming race in a pool (except against my little three-year-old son, who was wearing water wings).
And now, as I am aging and my legs are seeking a condo for retirement, I realize that metering my movements with a great sense of timing and knowing when to rest, can fool the masses into thinking that I’m really, really swift.
Published by Jonathan Cring