I am having the best day.
Sure, there are tasks waiting, but they aren’t pressing into me, demanding to be done. There’s a phone call I should get back to, but it’s not urgent. Snow lies melting like pure white fondant, asking politely to be shoveled, but it’s asking more out of obligation than real desire.
I’m having the best day because I feel fairly relaxed, allowing the minutes and hours to flow around me gently. One joy of growing older is I’m less inclined to acquiesce to your request. I mean, not yours, per se, but anyone’s. I’m less inclined to allow others or my own strident self to tell me what I should be doing, and that has given me freedom to enjoy a day like this.
In the past I would meet the idea of “slow living” with an eyeroll so exaggerated my contacts would get stuck somewhere in my brain. “Sure, everyone would LOOVVEE to take their time! Ha, lazy ingrates. Useless!” The whole goal and purpose of life is to accomplish as much as possible, isn’t it? To rush right up to the edge of the grave, and cross one more thing off the list before jumping in. How efficient!
Unfortunately, most of the systems we’ve devised for 21st century life are set up this way. Schools, which train our children to be Good Citizens and Upstanding Members of Society really hammer these lessons home. I hate to break it to you parents imagining all the wonder your perfect cherubs are exploring beyond the great miraculous doors of the School, but a lot of the hours are wasted time. The Schedule dictates all. It’s how everybody else is doing it. We mustn’t be left behind. The clock ticks, the bells strike, and no matter that little Johnny has just finally figured out how to assemble his project, or Susie is mesmerized by paint colours and engrossed in the final touches of her artistic masterpiece, the BELL HAS RUNG and everyone must jump into place and file hurriedly into the assembly chairs (where they then sit and wait for the speaker to arrive). And we shake our heads, “Tsk tsk, why are these students so dysregulated!?” Maybe, just once, be quiet and leave them alone to finish a task. Honestly, our children are incredibly resilient given the treatment they put up with day after day. Shrill voices and demands from the moment they are shocked out of sleep in the morning, shrill voices and commands minute to minute at school, rush rush to get on the bus or into the car, rush to the lesson or the meeting or the sport, rush through supper, “EAT! COME ON!” and then hopefully have a bit of reprieve in the bedtime routine before the circus starts again the next day. I’ve been both parent and teacher, and I have done it, too.
And why do we do it? We do it because schools are designed to prepare kids for the World of Work, where we are Simply Delighted to be woken up even earlier by shrill alarms, then pushed and prodded to do what needs doing in 8 or 10 or 12 hours of the day, fly home to eat and try to rest for a bit before the meeting or the practice or the Other Thing and collapse exhausted into bed. The main difference is in Adult World you might struggle to fall asleep, be alerted by an aging body to stumble twice to the bathroom, or stay awake with a child afraid of a nightmare.
The nightmare might just be your life, precious one.
I think that’s the core reason I struggled with teaching. I too, rushed students out the door to the next thing, interrupted by bells and deadlines, frustrated by the inevitable wasted time. Hurry up and wait. We learn that in school so we can do it for the rest of our miserable lives, apparently. Racing through traffic to the dentist appointment, where we then sit and stare out the window and contemplate our life choices.
But we should be thankful. Grateful to be a small cog in this big, beautiful wheel called Society.
It’s easy to say what everyone else should be doing in the rat race, if you’re a rat. What I mean is, some people enjoy the race. They love it; they thrive on it. They have found or been blessed with a way to do almost exactly what they want, day in and day out, and have devised systems so that others can deal with the annoying stuff. These blessed ones should be applauded for finding the narrow path through steaming piles of BS, where they can freely run. We need them, because otherwise the whole system would collapse into itself. The job provides the wage, the wage provides the groceries, the groceries provide the jobs. We work to buy the house so we can buy a fridge and then work to buy the food to put in it, then we take the food to work. Most people spend over half their paycheck on a mortgage or rent for homes that they rarely get to sit in. It’s life, baby, enjoy it!
This was not God’s original plan. It’s a twisted and dirty Plan B, but it’s our plan b, so we hold it tightly. If a serene and smiling Eve walked out of the Garden and into our lives, an observer would surely scoff, “That woman doesn’t look like she worked a day in her life!” I mean, just existing, eating from fruit trees, chatting with Adam, walking with God. How privileged. To our credit (I suppose) we have adapted to this plan and most of us somehow muddle through. The rest, well… that’s their fault. Probably just lazy.
This idea of Slow Living is quite popular on YouTube and other spaces. As people come to the end of their ropes, dealing with burnout or shutdown, nervous breakdowns, job or partner losses, they seem to be looking for another way. Living with no margin means that nothing can be really enjoyed. There is just enough time to make supper if I rush home and nothing goes wrong, but if it does then everything is stress. I can’t enjoy the moment because I have to be thinking and planning and working toward the next moment, so that nothing goes awry and everything happens on time. Those around me are carried along in the whirlwind, and how dare they have a need, or make a comment, or say they’re tired!? I’M THE ONE WHO’S TIRED! No, precious one, we’re all tired. Tired from keeping up. And the sad thing is we have accepted this as normal, everyday life. Everyone’s doing it, and I know, I know you’re simply trying your very best. And you’re doing great at finding a path through the steaming piles of BS, too.
I guess what I’m attempting to convey is I have tried very hard over a lifetime of rat-racing to be a good rat. And I even became fairly adept at juggling plates while careening around corners. Except that I hate it, and it’s soul destroying. I am learning to slow down, take the time to do one thing at a time and do it well. Leave minutes or hours in between to just eat fruit and walk with God. I know this glimpse of the Garden may be short-lived, and the tyrannical urgent will come in various forms. But for today, I’m not checking the time. The sun is warm and I’m going to let it sink into my skin, the house is quieter and I’m going to relish the silence. I may shovel, do dishes, put away papers, tidy rooms, but I will do it in my time and at my pace. There are no bells, here. Oh, yes there are still bells in my mind. Still shrill voices, and none shriller than my own. Even taking the time to just breathe all the way in — then, all the way out — noticing a colour or the way the light hits the snow on the trees — breathe in, hold, breathe out. All will make sense in time.
Slow living isn’t about doing things slowly, it’s about living and noticing that life. I think for me, I’ve felt harassed and hurried, tossed from port to port, and now resting quietly in a calm bay, I’m not terribly excited about setting off across the restless waves again. Slow living is a mindset, not a pace. A painting that is rushed can be destroyed, and a sculpture that is fired too fast can break. For today, being alive in the world is enough. I don’t need a title, a pat on the back, or a plan for tomorrow. Today is enough, and I am enough.
I took a break from writing this and put a load of sheets and towels in the washing machine, cleaned a couple of bathrooms, emptied garbage bins and changed a lightbulb. (The snow, I decided, looked too peaceful to be disturbed) I thought about the idea of meaningful work. Work is good, necessary, and worth doing for now, until we get back to Eden.
Meaning and purpose is what sets what we do apart from the rat race. A literal race with rats is described by a journalist in Moscow who visited an illegal gambling den. He writes, “Every five minutes, the [metal] boxes open and the rats are lured across a series of obstacles…to the small ball of feed that awaits them at the end of the track. Then they go back into the box and it starts all over again. Lights and a camera are trained on the races, which take place 24 hours a day.” And I thought wow, what an apt description of human life in the Year of our Lord, 2025.
After the ban: Cock fights, rat races and illegal gambling dens1
Slow living means doing a task in the actual time it takes to do it. It means enjoying what you have, not coveting what might yet be yours. Slow living is about looking at a friend when they are telling a story. Making good coffee and enjoying it from a favorite mug. Noticing how you feel, how food tastes, how the air feels in a room. Not rushing important decisions. Taking time for people you love, and letting loved ones go their own way.
I’ve noticed that often when we are rushing it is because we are concerned about making an impression or about what others are thinking. We are not experiencing life; rather, life is a performance. But unlike a play or a concert, there is no applause at the end for us, just an empty stage. And so we often live with a sense of resentment, a feeling of not being seen or considered. The trouble is, those who we think are watching are doing their own performances, struggling with their own lack of purpose, listening also…for their applause. The sound of appreciation we crave rarely comes when we are focused on our own dance with resentment, guilt, duty or control. What we need instead is to take responsibility for our lives, hours, and days, both as an act of care for ourselves and a token of mercy and understanding toward others.
No one can give us what we are not willing to give ourselves.
Slow living is a way of looking at life, even if all is rushing and swirling about. It’s the view out of the train window while life is bustling inside and speeding past outside. Slow living is thinking of kind words instead of the angry ones that can spring to mind first. At its core, slow living is honest. Honesty with ourselves and others about what we really feel, about what really happened, and about what we need.
The Cure for It All
Go gently today, don’t hurry
or think about the next thing. Walk
with the quiet trees, can you believe
how brave they are—how kind? Model your life
after theirs. Blow kisses
at yourself in the mirror
especially when
you think you’ve messed up. Forgive
yourself for not meeting your unreasonable
expectations. You are human, not
God—don’t be so arrogant.
Praise fresh air
clean water, good dogs. Spin
something from joy. Open
a window, even if
it’s cold outside. Sit. Close
your eyes. Breathe. Allow
the river
of it all to pulse
through eyelashes
fingertips, bare toes. Breathe in
breathe out. Breathe until
you feel
your bigness, until the sun
rises in your veins. Breathe
until you stop needing
anything
to be different.
Stories for Humans 