A few weeks ago I was told to slow it down. Not from a police officer . . . this time.
From a confidant that has very good intuition. Not something I wanted to hear. I don’t do slow very well. I’m not crazy fast, but definitely not slow. My mind can fly and just as I’m finishing one sentence, I’m on to the next. Before I swallow the last bite, my hand is back in the cookie jar. It’s amazing I’ve only gotten two speeding tickets in over 40 years. Like I said, I’m not that fast.
But it’s true. There are times I need to slow it down.
The motto for my son and daughter-in-law’s running business is, “Fast or Slow—Let’s Go!” Check out Blue Ox Running Facebook page and you’ll see me slow on the banner video—mostly from the knees down. (Hmm . . . what’s up with that?)
My “running” shoes walk ’cause I’m a walker. But I don’t just stroll. After all, who wants to stroll around the neighborhood when everyone who passes you seems to be training for the next marathon. (Actually, where I live that is precisely the case right now, and for those that care, yesterday I registered for the 5K walk/run which is part of the festivities! Yup . . . as a walker.)
Slow can be hard.
When I slow it down I get antsy in the pantsy!
I want to grab all the gusto I can in the next ten minutes, and the next ten, and the next. I love to crash at night with my head on the pillow. As I drift off to sleep, I like to think of all I got out of the day. But the truth is, I never get it all.
I can miss a lot.
I can miss the fluff of those dandelion showfalls outside my window. Too often, for me, it’s just another cue to get shoveling.
I can miss saying hello to my neighbor when I hurry into the house because the ice-cream in my sack of groceries might melt. Never mind the fact that the trunk of the car is probably colder than my freezer.
I can skip setting the oven timer for the scones I mix up for breakfast because it only takes me eight and half minutes to put on my make-up, seven minutes to do my hair, two minutes to brush my teeth, maybe five minutes to pick out my clothes and put them on, which adds up to when those scones should come out of the oven. Why waste time setting the timer?
Should have set the timer. Thank goodness for smoke-alarms.
We’ve all heard . . .
Haste makes waste. Time flies. Beat the clock. Better late than never. Crunch time.
I’ve been given this slow advice before, but I needed a refresher. Big time. And I pretty much got one all in the same day . . .
I slowed it down and walked over to my neighbor who was out with her dog. Her mother passed away at Thanksgiving. Now it’s almost daylight savings time, for pete’s sake!
I slowed it down when my sister called and told me her surgery led to more pain not less. Our pain has a big way of slowing us down. Others’ pain should too.
I slowed it down when the one I share life with needed more time to express himself. More time with everything. For me to slow it down may be the saving grace to live what’s in front of us with any grace at all. It’s most definitely the best place for me to start since life took a turn and fast went out the door. And to confess, that’s what started this post in the first place.
I need to slow it down.
Maybe you do, too. Maybe with that little shoot of yours whose steps are smaller than yours, words come slower than yours, and little hands take longer to do what needs to be done. Or maybe with someone else who needs more time than you’re used to giving. Maybe you need to slow it down for you.
Slow. It. Down.
There’s a good chance you won’t miss a thing and even a better chance you’ll find something you’ve been hoping for.
Here’s a few books from creatures who know slow best . . .