Some Slowness
What is slow?
Slow is a word that most commonly describes the speed or pace of something. An opposite is fast. But anything that is called fast could also be slow relative to something else. And anything called slow could also be fast. Some people call turtles slow. And slugs. But both are lightning speed compared to how long it takes an apple to decompose. Cheetahs are described as fast. And race cars. But both are sticky-molasses-slow compared with the speed of sound. And really, molasses isn’t that slow, especially compared with the aging of a stone.
This isn’t semantics.
It doesn’t take much study to observe that speed is of importance to humans. Think of the ways you think about (and experience) slow and fast in your life. Internet. Traffic. News cycle. Sleep. Baking bread. Coffee brewing. Memory. Rainstorm. Grocery line. Postal mail. Twitter. Conversation with a friend. Visit to the dentist. The last chapter of a beautiful novel. Construction on the road. Virtual. Remote. Democracy. 2020.
There are the things we love to be slow. We savor them, appreciate each stretching moment. And there are things we feel urgently and want to happen (or be done with) immediately. None of us is immune from feelings of urgency. I often observe myself insist on something immediately or quickly. Sometimes I giggle, sometimes I am annoyed with myself. But noticing this reminds me that there are multiple truths and I am a human being full of contradictions. We all are.
It isn’t romantic either.
There is often a romance with slowing down. The notion beckons us back to an idyllic time, maybe inside a serene scene from a favorite poem or the image of a quaint cottage on a hillside cozied up to fireplace inside. This is until we expand the scene of such an idyllic moment and think about the larger political and social context of the era we are imagining. And even if the era is now, there is often an escapism when thinking about slowness, as if slowness is somehow a kind of perfection away from currently realities, as if we need to leave where we are in order to find it.
Let’s expand what we mean by slow.
Slowness is something that’s much more than itself. It’s a space that opens up opportunities of infinite scope. It invites depth of noticing and wondering. It supports an explicit practice of attention. It allows for complexities, contradictions, distractions, and stillness. Slowness accepts everything for what it is and offers a way to breathe and be with it all.
Slowness is beautiful.
Imagine this: The space between notes in a piece of music. Your child’s eyelids as they fall into sleep. A bumble bee’s hover over a flower. Parting of clouds for fragment of sun. Smell of bread before the bite. Drawn out stretch of breath.
The beauty of slowness is in the between. A deeper noticing of what’s between allows expanded attention for what’s there. And what’s there in the ordinariness of daily moments—the joy, the pain, the sweet, the mess—is beautiful.
Slowness is a choice.
It’s like brushing your teeth or going to bed on time so you have a full night’s rest. It’s like making sure you eat 6-8 whole fruits and vegetables every day. It’s like exercise. Slowness is an ordinary practice that over time becomes a habit.
Why is it so hard to practice slowness?
One answer is this: Slowness isn’t hard. It’s easy. And because it’s easy we are hard on ourselves when we embrace it. We aren’t used to the feel of easy. When we feel it, we make up stories about how we aren’t worthy because we aren’t struggling enough, thinking our value only comes from “hard” work that is “urgent.”
How do I start slowing down?
Start by noticing yourself in the moments of your day. Where do you find ease? Tension? When are you driven by urgency? What motivates this? When do you go slowly or let things around you be slow? What stories do you tell yourself about these times? Take notes to find patterns. Notice.
Slowness is a small shift in attention that brings immensity of presence, joy, and intrinsic motivation to daily life. I wish you expanded space for slowness so you may live as the fullest expression of who you are.
Love and Light, Melissa
A few inspirations for slowing down…
“Slowly, slowly, slowly,” said the sloth, picture book by Eric Carle
The Gift of Nothing, picture book by Patrick McDonnell
Windows, picture book by Julia Denos, illustrated by E.B. Goodale
I Like to Take My Time, song by Fred Rogers
On the Importance of Slowing Down, blog post for Fred Rogers Institute
The Importance of Slowing Down, conversation with educators of Educators’ Neighborhood (email educators.neighborhood@stvincent.edu to request a link to the recording)
The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey, beautiful book
But…
“I don’t have time for slowness.”—Actually, slowness opens up space that makes it feels like you have more time. It will, however, take focused attention as you learn to practice it.
“Slowness is unrealistic.”—In fact, slowness doesn’t take place away from realities or work or necessary living. It allows you to be more present where you are and with what you’re doing.
“Slowness is boring.”—Maybe. But let’s remember that boredom is only a word used to describe what we don’t like or what we want to avoid. Part of learning to practice slowness is learning to accept more of ourselves.
“Slowness is inefficient.”—This depends on your notion of efficiency. Slowness will help you notice more about the kinds of efficiency assumptions that guide your worldview and daily practice. It will allow you to more clearly see, and act in alignment with, your purpose.
Would you like to learn more about how to grow a practice of slowness for yourself, your family, your staff, or your organization?
