The Great Slow Down

I am fast. It is a trait that I carry around like a trophy. I think fast, walk fast, learn fast, and eat fast. My husband makes fun of me because sometimes I move so fast that I don't entirely focus on completing a task before launching into the next. For example, when handing him a hot cup of coffee, I very frequently turn to move in the other direction before he has a firm hold on the cup.  

Now moving fast does have its advantages. I can move through my to-do list four times faster than most, checking off more tasks in 25 minutes than you would imagine possible. Moving fast has allowed me to launch projects and programs and take risks that have allowed me to stand out throughout my career. But as with every strength, when taken too far, it becomes a weakness. And so, at times, moving this fast also comes at a cost. 

When I am in the mode of moving fast, I am singularly focused and often feel like the Roadrunner from the bugs bunny cartoons. And when moving that fast, it can be hard to slow down, shift gears, or directions. It often feels like I have a formula one engine revving in my chest that has forgotten to take its pit stop and is burned out and in need of repair. Sometimes moving this fast feels like anxious, others exciting, and like I am always living a second ahead in the future rather than being fully present in the now.  

A part of me longs to slow down, take time, and relish in the simple things like watching a bird fly across a Carolina blue sky, feeling the t of the sun on my face, or indulging in playtime with my dog Bonnie. Living that way reminds me of a former poet laureate Billy Collins's poem that appreciates the simple pleasures of life rather than living in perpetual motion striving to be somewhere different than I am.

So this morning, for some reason, as I felt the urge to rush as I was straightening up the kitchen, I decided to make a different choice and purposefully slowed down. I held back my pace, felt the rush of warm water on my hands, and watched as the soapy water exploded like an erupting volcano as I cleaned the inside of my coffee mug. This slowness stayed with me as I prepared to take my dog for a walk. Instead of feeling flustered, forgetting my keys or my sunglasses as I often do, I enjoyed looking into Bonnie's eyes as I put on her collar. As we stood in line at Starbucks, our weekend routine, yes, Bonnie gets croissants for breakfast on the weekends; I felt calm rather than frustrated by the slow-moving line. The 10-year-old boy in line ahead of me began to engage me in conversation.  

"I have a dog too," he told me.  

And when the frustrated and harried man in a suit plowed his way into the store, I did the unthinkable. I offered to let him go ahead of me. "It's okay," I told him, "I am not in a rush."  

Just so you understand how out of character this is for me, I usually stand in line giving off the energy that says, don't think about it, don't ask, don't even look at me, I got here first, and I am in a rush too okay.  

But making this other choice on this one morning taught me something because I watched as the man's face relaxed and then produced a smile. His facial experience served as a mirror of what was happening in my own body due to slowing down. I want more of this feeling in my life and see so many benefits to it. First is the opportunity to create meaningful connections to myself and those around me. Second, it creates space for new ideas, solutions, and creativity to emerge.  

So what might this practice look like? Is it as simple as what I experienced this morning? Whatever it may be, it feels like an experiment worth exploring. How might you benefit from the practice of slowing down? What might stop you from trying or continuing? What might stop me?

Letting go of old habits and replacing them with new ones is never easy. But unfortunately, it's natural to fall back into lifelong habits unless we have a system of accountability and support in place. So for those who feel frazzled, on the verge of burnout, or chronically overwhelmed, why not join me in this experiment? Click here to find out how.