Maybe I can live slowly

Reflections on taking my time instead of using it.

Today I got a deep tissue massage.

Trigger points and all. It was gloriously painful.

And now I feel like my consciousness has been put into a new body.

This post is not about my massage, although I highly recommend.

It’s about revelations from this deliciously slow Sunday that started with a cappuccino and croissant and ended with reading for two hours by a roaring fire.

It’s about the what happens when I’m at the spa. The way I move. The way I shower and feel and smell the soaps. The way I sit and meditate for however long I want by the trickling fountain. The way I walk at half-speed. The way I shave and use the 4-step skincare process available in the men’s locker room. It’s about the way I breathe.

It’s about going slow.

This way of being doesn’t have to be tied to a particular location. How can I bring this into more areas of my life?

These are questions I’ve pondered. These are questions I’m pondering.

My life is full. As a result, I often find myself moving fast. I time-block my schedule to ensure I do all I intend to do. I’m highly productive and efficient with my time. Even with regular periods of deep focus and dropping in with clients, there is a fast pace to my days.

I use my time.

There are many benefits to this and quite a lot I enjoy about being in the zone, but this pace sometimes seeps into other areas of my life. Areas where I don’t want to be productive or efficient. Areas where I want to be inefficient. Areas where I want a different type of zone.

As much of Eckhart Tolle’s message proclaims, the primary purpose of a human being is not to do or accomplish, but to “be fully present in the moment.”

I find that a fast and productive pace often pulls me out of the moment, as if my primary purpose is to get as much done as I can. As if that’s my priority.

There is an intuitive call to balance I’m heeding. I move fast when I’m “on.” So I want to move slow when I’m “off.”

I’ve been building this into my life.

I have slow mornings that start in a robe while I make coffee in a french press and read through my daily reminders, every little movement causing the leather to talk on this old Danish wingback chair.

Midday I take a long meandering walk, often in the woods. Then I make a smoothie so I can drink it while I’m getting more done.

In the evening, it’s time to come back into slowness. I take my time cooking, savoring the sounds, tastes, and smells. I create my own spa. Candles, dim lighting, soft and loose clothing, a good book, pouring tea in silence so I can hear the water splash into the mug. Then a spa playlist echoes off the walls as I glide through my home the same way I would through the hallway of a Four Seasons. Tranquility.

Environmental cues aside, I’m noticing how every moment offers us a rich sensory experience if we are present with it. Maybe this way of living doesn’t have to be reserved for portions of my day.

Maybe speed is secondary. Maybe moving fast is not as efficient as I think.

I’m reminded of Derek Sivers’ story of relaxing on his bike ride, only to find that it took him 45 minutes, rather than his usual, exhausting, 43-minute pace.

Maybe I’m fooling myself thinking that focusing on speed is any faster. Maybe I can answer emails the same way I make tea. Maybe I can read a spreadsheet the same way I read a novel. Maybe I can put on my button-down oxford the same way I do my robe.

Maybe I can transcend any sense of urgency altogether.

Maybe I can live slowly.

Slowness facilitates stillness.

Stillness facilitates presence.

Presence is the portal to inner peace.

To me, inner peace looks like feeling every texture. Moving calmly. Breathing deeply. Smelling every smell. Hearing every noise. Going slow.

Going slow.

Maybe I can take my time instead of use it.

Maybe I can live slowly, not just for a morning or an evening or a day at the spa.

Maybe I can live slowly.