Learning to Walk Slowly
#1845
Even on my quiet Sunday morning walks, when I have nowhere to be and nothing to achieve, my body rebels against slowness. It takes me at least the first fifteen minutes and some deliberate effort to reduce my pace and slow down. Yet, I have nowhere to be, no deadline to meet, and I'm not walking to get fit. I'm just walking to contemplate and think. It should be easy to go slow. But it's not. It is as if my body is conditioned to move quickly, to cover as much ground as possible in the shortest amount of time.
Only when I slow down does the world reveal itself—the river's morning song, the careful movements of animals, the dawn sun sprinkling magic on everything. My mind, following my legs' lead, stops racing for answers. That's when insights emerge, as if they were waiting for this pause in the rapid stream of my thoughts. Yet, once they are there, I'm tempted to accelerate again and rush toward a solution. I have to make a deliberate choice to keep going slow.
In our rapidly accelerating world, choosing to go slow might seem foolish. But what's the point of rushing toward a future if we miss the beauty unfolding in the present? Going slow requires practice—and patience. Yet these deliberate pauses might be among the most courageous acts we can choose.
I wish you some magical moments of slowness this week.