This day is colored to please.

A slip’n’slide cuts a broad swath of blue across Grandpa and Grandma’s lawn while young bodies attempt all kinds of stunts on the slippery slope. My dad converses with Melissa’s dad at the top of the slide while grandkids hurtle their bodies between.

Below, among the orchard trees, five tents in yellow, blue, green, and gray dot the grass. We might be a bit more tired for having slept on the ground last night, but memories are worth a little discomfort. Of course, I’m not qualified to speak for everyone; I slept quite comfortably and stayed warm and dry, though the dew lay thick on the lawn this morning.

Ever feel like you do a little bit of everything, but not much of anything?

We tend to live frenetically in the Western world. In theory we value simplicity and appreciate an uncomplicated way of life, but in reality we want fast food, fast cars, and fast fortunes. We want fast solutions to difficult problems and even fast relationships—touch-and-go connections that make us feel warm and fuzzy without meddling in our personal lives.

But if we want to get the most out of anything, we have to invest time. It’s true. Next time you bite into a hunk of rich, dark chocolate, try to not chew it. As it melts in your mouth, get ready for the surprising depth of velvety flavor contained in just one bite—discovered only when you don’t gulp it down.

If we really want to get to the important things in life, we’re going to have to invest time.

So we need to ask, “What’s really important?”

Could launching rockets be more significant than weeding the garden? Could a tete-a-tete with a child be more valuable than writing? Could sitting still be more useful than getting something done?