Writing to myself. A peek into my journals:
It feels good to be slow! Oh how I love being slow and moving with intention, doing with deliberation. Oh the joy of slinking around and just being in space, being in this life! Now, I know being slow can be uncomfortable for some. Here’s the thing. To truly reach the enjoyment of slowness, you need to linger in it long enough to shed and transcend habits of busyness. You need to stay in it and let yourself unravel a bit. (Yes, unravel! Not just unwind, but unravel — to truly release what’s gotten tangled up inside!). All sorts of stories will arise (convincing ones) — thoughts of seemingly urgent tasks, and that dreadful pull into the cult of productivity.
Just like a snowglobe, it takes more than a moment’s stillness to let all the flakes stir and swirl and settle. Give some time to being in slowness. Let yourself sink deeper and deeper, moment by moment, breath by breath. Let the mind revolt against the lack of stimulation, kick and scream a bit, run itself tired, and eventually calm itself. Let restlessness dissolve, let boredom open up to spacious quiet. Suddenly, it’s like you let yourself tiptoe long enough to leave the bustling city and stumble into the countryside of the mind.
Here, you find a new terrain, where you can see with such clarity, hear the wishes of your daydreams, and feel joy blossom in every cell of your body. Here, you’ve hushed the voices that are greedy for more and better and different, and suddenly, this moment is enough, because it’s so full and beautiful, and it’s amazing just to be alive. This countryside of the mind is full of possibility. Unobscured, undistracted, wide open, and bright. This is a fertile ground for authenticity, creativity, and deep intimacy with yourself. Those playful and imaginative spaces you knew so well in childhood. It is a homecoming.