Mini-epiphanies seem to come in the oddest of forms.

These have wide eyes, big fuzzy ears and occasional brown spots in their wool. They look at you and suddenly everything seems to slow down. I noticed something special about our week-old lambs, the newest additions to our flock.

The ewes give birth every year about this time back home on the farm, but for some reason this year over break I noticed something more.

They seemed to have an effect on the speed of life for me – a slowing effect to be exact. The lambs were the first of two of these experiences I had recently.

For the outside world, everything is in a blurry state of hyperactivity. Meetings, hair appointments, class assignments and work schedules dominate our minds.

Outside the lambs’ pen in our barn, Jane is worried that her paper isn’t going to be done in time for her 9 a.m. class; Bob over there demands another meal of his waiter because it he was served the mild barbecue sauce instead of the mild-hot sauce; and Sally just bumped into another person on the sidewalk in the rush to get back in time for “Friends.”

But for these lambs in rural Iowa, theirs is a world devoid of traffic jams, corporate downsizing and 65-hour weeks. They run around around their mother encircled by a fence and straw bales to keep the wind coming through the cracks in the 87-year-old barn.

They randomly jump straight in the air and let forth a “blaaa!” like nothing is of concern. They exist in a perpetual cycle – run and jump around, eat, sleep, repeat. That’s it. I just stood there in awe at their state of simple and humble bliss.

Meeting the new lambs over break was the first mini-revelation.

The second happened to me just two days ago. I was working late in a computer lab on campus, minding my own business. I had my headphones in, several browser windows open and a Word document in progress.

But before I knew it, I was sitting in complete darkness and the room went from a low roar to utter silence in a second. The screen that had been so alive with information fell victim to the dark.

I walked into the hall to see only the emergency lights on and hear people wondering out loud. I couldn’t believe it. One second I’m bouncing about the globe online, and the next I’m sitting in a dark room with my now-useless mouse in on hand and a to-do list in the other, wondering which way was up.

All I could think about was how reliant I was on the electricity that that runs through the veins of this university. I picked up my things and went outside to find all of the streetlights off and eerie silence in the whole area of campus.

For two short hours Tuesday night, MTV was not blaring, the scream of computers in the transfer of MP3s was halted, and mere human vision was made possible only with flashlights.

Suddenly I started noticing how bright the stars and moon were and how still the night air was. I had little to do without any light, computer, radio or TV. So I just went to sleep. I was lying there in bed trying to think, to no avail, of what else I could do.

Those two events brought things into perspective for me. At college, it’s easy to be busy with organizations, ceaseless class reading assignments and work schedules. It has become cliche to say it.

“I’m stressed.”

“Well, I AM a busy person, you know.”

These are phrases that have inundated the common American vernacular.

I know that because I’m just as guilty.

Maybe some day we can transform ourselves into stress-free beings. Perhaps we won’t be habitually worried or stressed people. The catch is to achieve that relaxation but remain caring as well. Maybe someday that will happen.

But I woke up Wednesday with electricity again and here I am back to the normal schedule. I don’t think I’ve learned my lesson yet.

I guess from time to time it just takes things like a power outage and a couple of wide-eyed day-old lambs to serve as reminders of things most important.

Omar Tesdell is a sophomore in journalism and mass communication from Slater. He is online editor of the Daily.