I had two thoughts when I read Beth-Anne’s post yesterday. First, happy birthday!! 34 is doing wonders for you!
The second was wholehearted agreement that time often feels like it’s flying, and that I actually know of a way to slow things down, at least for me, and that’s to document what is happening during at least some of those days. I blog.
I write something, and usually throw up a photograph (or 12). I’ve spent three hours on a post; sometimes I blurt out whatever I can in the 12 minutes I have before my eyes close for the night, or throw up a picture if I have 12 seconds. I don’t know how this works exactly, but the record-keeping seems to help me to experience what’s happened more deeply, to remember it better, and sometimes, if I’m lucky, to revel a little in the amazing bits. And then, having such practiced this habit the night before, the next day I seem more alert to the life around me. I breathe a little deeper, I notice a little more, I think of something else to write about. Things slow down.
I’ve been blogging on a private site and here for over five years, and it might not be an exaggeration to say it’s been transformative. Not completely on its own, because along with blogging I’m sure I was opening myself up to other positive and creative influences, but the personal blog was at the centre of much of this.
And then five months ago I stopped.
Mostly intentionally. I decided to take on a large (for me, still providing primary childcare for three young kids) project that I believed would require all of my energies. Many things slid, not just the blog. Making things with the children and on my own, seeing friends and family, preparing and eating healthy foods – so many tenets that I enjoy and find meaning in kind of flew out the window.
It was not comfortable, and I’m not sure I managed it that well. Yet I’m not quite sorry for it either. Years ago I read Carl Honore who asserted in In Praise of Slow that slow living doesn’t mean that life must always be slow; it means that you are consciously choosing its pace. Good slow living could therefore incorporate periods where life speeds right up, provided an assessment has been made that it’s worth it. I felt like I did this and took a plunge (which I’ll be writing about soon!).
At some point though, perhaps a month ago, the pendulum swung to its outermost reach (where it really did not feel great), and began its arc of return. My project was underway – nowhere near fruition but the birthing was done. There is much more to be done, but now it’s going to get done with a bit more balance. The period of continuous fast living is finished now. I want to slow down, and gratefully, I actually know how.
A few days ago, for the first time in five months, I wrote a personal blog. And after I finish here, I’ll write another one.
I’ll tell you a secret about my post: it’s going to be about shoes. My three year old’s shoes, to be precise. A few mornings ago, he curled up his toes and refused to put on his shoes. This and other assertions of independence and will are becoming routine, and I had to get my other sons to school and the little guy to preschool, and resorted to tucking my struggling baby under one arm like a sleeping bag and toting him to the car, shoeless. I put his shoes on the top of the car trunk while I buckled him in and the other boys climbed in.
If you are a parent yourself, you probably already know what happened – I arrived at school to discover one shoe on the car trunk. I had forgotten to put the shoes in the car before leaving my garage and lost one en route somewhere.
Searching for shoes to go out today, I found that no pairs for my littlest except for a pair of flip flops, and as my son was wearing socks (which he really did not want to take off), this would not do. Imagine my delight when I found two shoes – both running shoes, to boot – a left and a right. Not a matching pair, but a pair. Boon accepted. We could leave, and I felt grateful.
The post was composed in my mind, and I later took the snapshot. It’s just a brief and random bit about the day, not the most impactful or important, but I choose it anyway. Now I’ll log it into my memory. A nod to the day, a moment to take a deep inhale, and to say thank you for all of this. Short, sweet, and slow.