Slowing Down

Dear friend,

2022 has passed by in a blur of frantic motion. I reach out my hand and try to stop the wheel, but instead I find myself running to catch up with it.

Slowing down is an essential part of self-care, but it’s also one of the most difficult things to do in this fast-paced world.

Even on days when I have nowhere to be, I often catch myself rushing around my house like my cat when she has a case of the Zoomies. On my way to the kitchen to wash the dishes I grab a basket of folded towels, and while the tap is heating up I get started on cleaning the fridge. I often have 10+ tabs open while I am working. I even pride myself on my ability to dance from one thing to another thing to another thing, then back to the first thing again, without losing my train of thought. Multitasking is a prized skill in our society. In a culture that worships productivity and a world where you have to keep moving to survive, the art of slow living—and of simply slowing down—has fallen by the wayside.

One wonderful thing that came out of the pandemic was the resurrection of the concept of slow living. Gen-Z-ers call it “cottagecore”. If you haven’t heard this term before, Google it. You’ll be met with photos of wild, blooming gardens, baskets full of vegetables, woodland cottages that look like fairy houses. You’ll see young people in long, Little Women-inspired dresses. For many people, this is simply an aesthetic. For others (including myself), it’s a much-desired way of life.

I don’t want to return to the Little House on the Prairie way of life. I don’t know if anyone does. It’s easy to romanticize the simplicity of the past. However, I think our society could use a hefty dose of Slow Living Syrup.

When I was in high school, the plan I had for my life looked very different from the life I am living now. I wanted to live in the fast lane. I wanted to go to art school, study fashion design, move to New York City, and take the world by storm. I believed I was ready for the cutthroat reality of that world. After one semester as an art major—and a dizzying trip to New York—, however, I realized two things: 1) I really hated people critiquing my art, and 2) I did not want to be anywhere near the city.

My teenaged self would probably be embarrassed by my present-day self. Because today—and for the past several years—my dream for my future is a simple one. I want to live close to nature. I want a simple, small home (a tiny house is ideal) with a big garden. I want to be more or less self-sufficient, growing my own vegetables and herbs. And I want peace and quiet.

Sadly this lifestyle is very difficult to achieve. More difficult than moving to the city and pursuing a high-powered career. Because even though the last three years have seen city-dwellers moving to the suburbs and rural areas in droves, we are still expected to “hustle”. Since graduating from college, I can’t tell you how many times I have been told that I need to move to the city in order to “make it”. And we’ve created a world where a full-time job isn’t enough; so many young people have a “side hustle” in addition to a full time job, just so they can pay rent.

What is “life” when there’s no time for the things that really matter? No time to do the things we enjoy, or to perform the simple acts of self-care which we so desperately need? No time to recharge? Perhaps this is why so many of us are sick, caught in the ever-moving wheel of time.

As I write this, I am recovering from Covid. It’s the first time I’ve had it, and it’s been a jarring experience. I did “all the right things”. I am fully vaccinated and up to date on boosters, I wear my mask everywhere, I avoid crowds… but it’s finally caught up with me. It could be a lot worse—I know that, and I am grateful. But the biggest challenge for me has been slowing down. Forcing myself to rest.

Covid has forced me to slow down, and it has not been easy. I’m hyper-aware of the dusting, the vacuuming, the shower-cleaning, the Christmas shopping that needs to get done. And I can’t seem to let go of the idea that it all needs to get done right now.

Covid has forced me to slow down, and that’s kind of a blessing. It means I’m taking time to rest and focus on things that bring me joy. In much the same way, the (albeit brief) pause that we experienced during the spring-summer 2020 lockdown reminded us that it is possible to find joy in simple things. Gardening, baking, going for a walk, FaceTiming a friend, playing with our pets… All of these things are capable of bringing us real, unadulterated joy. When the world went into lockdown, it was as though our planet stopped turning on its axis. We paused and took a breath. We had no choice!

I live a go-go-go life. I walk fast (friends and family often have a hard time keeping up with me). I eat fast. I run errands really fast. I get easily fed-up with my art projects because they can’t be rushed.

Why do I rush? No one is screaming at me from the sidelines. No one is telling me to hurry up. So why do I feel the need to sprint from one task to another?

I suppose it all comes down to the existential dread that many of us feel. The fear that we are running out of time.

Running out of time to finish a term paper or an important work project.

Running out of time to get everything squared away for the holidays.

Running out of time to fall in love, to start a family, to buy our dream home.

Running out of time to fulfill our destiny.

Some of these fears are reasonable. Some are just silly.

Maybe we worry that if we don’t move as fast as we can, we will get left behind. Sadly, there is a grain of truth to this belief.

Especially if you were born into a low-income family (as I was), you need to work harder than others do to achieve the same quality of life as those who had a head start. Since I was very young, both of my parents have worked very physically demanding jobs for pitiful wages (cleaning houses, packing boxes in factories). There were times when they could barely make ends meet. My father was forced into retirement in his mid-seventies because of the pandemic. If not for Covid and the risk it carries for people like him, he would still be working. My parents have not been on vacation since 2007. It breaks my heart. I wish I could help them. I wish I could pay them back for everything they have given me. They are the two hardest-working people I know, and they can’t slow down.

One of my biggest goals is to help my parents live a comfortable life. They are so bad at practicing self-care, because they don’t have much of a choice.

To be clear: Self-care does not necessarily mean going on vacation. And not everyone has the luxury of simply taking time off work, either. Unfortunately, no one is going to show up at my parents’ house and say, “You can slow down now! Take a break! You don’t have to work so hard!” The reality in this country and this culture is that we need to work to survive… often to the point of burnout. So the challenge is figuring out how to take care of ourselves—how to slow down—while doing what needs to get done.

At the beginning of this year, I was somehow once again able to convince myself that I wanted to move to the city. I convinced myself that I wanted a high-powered career, and I told everyone that this was my plan. I don’t remember the exact moment I realized that I was betraying myself, but I am so grateful that I did. I realized that this brilliant idea was thrust upon me by the conviction that I had no other choice. I had told myself that I was never going to make it otherwise. I had convinced myself that if I moved to the city, I would make more money, meet my life partner, and find my purpose.

I had lost sight of something that is incredibly precious to me…

2021 was the most traumatic year of my life. During that time, I began meditating for the very first time. I had always convinced myself that I did not know how to meditate. But practicing meditation doesn’t mean emptying your mind—or maybe it does for some people, but I have never met anyone who is capable of this. My therapist walked me through a guided “safe space” meditation. I closed my eyes, and she told me to imagine a place—real or imagined—where I felt completely safe and at peace. Immediately, I saw a small cottage in a woodland clearing, surrounded by big gardens. She told me to observe all of my surroundings, and I felt that this place was real—that I had been there before. She told me to concentrate on my five senses, and as I entered the cottage, this world came alive behind my eyes. I saw the baskets hanging from the kitchen ceiling rafters, I smelled the bread in the oven, I felt a light breeze coming through the open front door. I tasted fresh berries from the bushes outside, and my ears were filled with birdsong from every direction.

It was one of the most powerful experiences of my life.

“Congratulations,” said my therapist, when I had returned to her office. “You just meditated.”

That cottage has been in my mind’s eye ever since. I can call it up very clearly whenever I close my eyes. Whether this cottage is a place that I have constructed in my imagination, or a premonition about my future that I can manifest—and that’s what I plan to do—it’s real for me. And the peace and safety surrounding it are real. I can go there, whenever I feel like my life is spinning out of control.

The only time I lost sight of this cottage was when I planned to move to the city. I imagine ivy began to smother the windows and mice found their way to the bread cooling on the counter when forgot about my cottage. But the moment I snapped out of it—realized that though this is the correct path for many people, it’s the wrong path for me—the image became as clear as a photograph once again.

And it has been ever since.

If you need to slow down, if you need to take a step back from this never-ending race—if only for a moment—you need to try this meditation.

Set a timer for five minutes, and close your eyes.

Imagine that you are somewhere you feel entirely safe and warm and at peace.

What do you see?

What do you hear?

What do you taste?

What do you smell?

What do you feel?

Once this world comes alive for you, live there for a little while. No less than five minutes.

Your mind will stray. Keep bringing it back. Focus on your senses.

When you come back to this world and this present moment, chances are your heart rate will have slowed, and you will be able to walk—rather than run—through the rest of your day.

How else can we practice slowing down? Here are some things that work for me:

1. I cook or bake something. A word to the wise: You really shouldn’t rush when you are chopping something with a knife. Also, when you put effort into making something—whether it’s for yourself or someone else—you tend to enjoy it more. Home-cooked meals are a luxury, so when you are able to, make time to treat yourself or a loved one to a new recipe. (I’m still working on the second half of this equation… I would really love to learn how to savor my food.)

2. I check in with my breath. Chances are I’ve gone a full five minutes without taking a real breath. I’m really bad at breathing; it’s something I’m working on. But when I find that I’m holding my breath, it usually means that I’m rushing through something.

3. I go for a walk. And I try to walk as slowly as I can. There’s this illustration of Winnie-the-Pooh walking with Piglet. Pooh’s hands are clasped behind his back, and it’s clear that he’s not going anywhere in particular. He’s just biding his time while talking to his friend (another great reason to emulate Pooh). Going for a walk is great for those of us who need to slow down, but don’t necessarily want to stop moving. I love movement. I’m a very active person. But that does not mean that I have to run.

4. I water my plants. This requires special attention. Not every plant wants the same amount of water. If I’m feeling ambitious, I also dust off the leaves.

5. I draw. Making art requires patience. It’s true—sometimes I end up getting overwhelmed or restless, or I become frustrated because It’s not done yet, and occasionally I walk away resenting myself for my lack of artistic skill (which is really just my lack of patience). But spending time making art is not only good practice for… well, artists… it’s also really good practice for slowing the heck down.

6. I say “no”. I exercise this right very often. In college, I had a hard time with this one. I felt like I was missing out. Because when you are working on slowing down, sometimes you have to say no to a night out with your friends when you would rather stay at home and watch a movie with your cat. But it also means holding your ground and looking after yourself when someone else is pushing you to do something you do not have the physical or mental capacity to do. Learning to say “no” is not only an important part of your self-care practice; it’s incredibly empowering.

Are you rushing through life? If you are, don’t blame yourself. This world does not want you to slow down. Often you have no choice but to run as fast as you can.

Every time you step out of the race, you are exercising your right to savor life, and you are caring for yourself in a way that should not be underestimated.

Don’t wait until you are forced to slow down. Slow down right now. Take a breath, step back.

Everything that needs to get done will get done.