To most people looking in from the outside my life would look very small, very quiet and very slow. And it is. But it's not as slow as it would be if I was living at my natural pace.
I haven't really done that since I was a child. There have been small pockets of time when I've been able to slow right down again, and enforced slowness when I was unwell, but that's not the same thing. The closest I've been to life at my pace again was when I spent just over two months one winter on one of the Hawaiian islands. I slipped back into that slow pace of mine almost immediately and it took me six weeks before I started to feel bored. From boredom emerged creativity - real, from the soul creativity. I had forgotten until that point what it was like or even that I was a creative person. It was such a beautiful, simple, slow time and such a precious memory. I sometimes wonder what would have developed had I been able to stay longer?
But I think what I'm trying to say is that I'm starting to feel a strong pull in the direction of Slow again. I wonder if I can live a life, my life, at my natural pace. Is it possible? And what would it look like? How would I do it?
Perhaps a more important question is, why do I think that living a life that isn't at my natural pace is possible? It certainly doesn't do much for my health, sanity or fulfilment. I wonder what makes us believe that doing things against our nature is the right way to live?
Something to ponder.
And then there's that inner tingle of excitement at the thought of living slowly, simply... making space for all the beauty and being able to breathe again, relax again, feel that sense of aliveness again. That tingle you get when something touches the very core of you.
Evening light on the meadow.