Her name is Bongsoon, which means “strong woman” in Korean. It’s a fitting name for a resident in our house. She’s much like a dog, really, for all the attention and time she craves. She’s lived with us a few months now, and she quite happily belongs here.

I noticed in recent weeks that I’ve been short with Bongsoon, not understanding why she knocks things over, whines, and follows me around while I’m the only one home. I call myself an animal person, but between the fact that she’s not technically my cat and I’m busy in this season (life season and calendar season), she doesn’t make it on the list of priorities. So, I hustle and bustle around the house, reviewing my to-do list aloud because I’m probably forgetting something:

“Exchange these keys for those.”

“Make sure there’s enough food to last me, because I won’t get a full meal before I get back.”

“Shoot, I still haven’t sent that email.”

“Do I have a change of shoes? I don’t want to wear my work shoes into practice.”

No matter what I’m doing (or saying, for that matter), Bongsoon makes sure to let me know where she is, and that she wants to play. Sometimes I talk to her; other times I take her off whatever surface she’s climbed. She weaves between my legs and I desperately hope I don’t step on her by accident.

Finally, in a brief moment of clarity, the root of my frustration occurs to me:

She’s the most persistent being telling me that I’m not where my feet are.

Oh, sure, I live in this house. My mail comes here, and the fridge holds my share of food. Lately, however, I’ve spent most of my time here between bedtime and my alarm in the morning. When I looked at my calendar yesterday, I counted at least two weeks since my last night in without a basketball game, late practice, or other plans. I haven’t spent time just being, resting, and absorbing the peace from home that I covet.

Oh, yes, I live here, but I’ve spent my recent time in this place as one would at a pit stop, quickly, efficiently, and without much connection.

When I slow down to think about it, I can feel the fast pace in my body. My muscles are tight, and relaxation takes more time. I struggle to read more than a few pages without falling asleep. My room is a wreck, and my mind races with the many things to do in the height of basketball season with a wedding around the corner.

As I get caught going deeper into my mind and outrunning my soul, I need every available voice to call me out and tell me to slow down. Thankfully there are many, but the house cat is doing an especially great job.

So tonight, my feet are on the couch, taking a break, and going nowhere fast.

And so am I.