Good morning from the other side of summer.
So far, September’s been slow. Intentionally slow. No hurry. Not blurry.
It’s become important to see the life I’m living in up-close detail and absorb it all. Such an in-depth relationship with everyone and everything around me can’t be managed by a speeding drive-by kind of living too quickly, with barely a break for a breath, or beauty, or soul-searching.
So I’ve slowed. And I can’t for the life of me remember what the God-awful rush I used to live in was all about anyway. Why the frenzy? The rapid heartbeat? The constant cascade of must-be-dones? Sleepless. Breathless. Less. Less.
And I’ve got me some routines. Like lighting candles at the end of a day. Like holding hands. Sharing a sit-down on the porch. Kicking acorns down the road. Sometimes, I just sit silently because sitting in silence is all I need right then and there. I don’t live a life of leisure – but I’m living more leisurely.
Does that make sense?
It’s not that I’m worry-free. Each and every life has some. Now and again, a little or a lot. We’ve lived with our worries. And we worry still.
The slowing doesn’t mean freedom from pain, or sorrow, or problems. Life’s deadlines and appointments must be met. Bills arrive in the mail needing payment. There are obligations, commitments, and tasks. But I’m learning (again) life’s easier to live when I do the next right thing, whatever that may be. Move paper. Shift piles. Wash dishes. Tidy. Straighten. Sit. Walk. Rest. Breathe. Wonder.
I no longer measure time by checks on the list, to-dos that were done, or goals reached. I am not counting calories, miles walked, or hours of sleep.
I’m living in a season of: what do I need?
And gratefully … doing just that.