The walk is .28 of a mile to be exact—measured after walking it over 150 times last school year. In the beginning it was refreshing. Most days, it still is.
Every morning, the kids and I walk to school, and say goodbye to my first-grader. My younger daughter and I then return home. We walk this path four times a day for school drop-off and pick-up. A ritual, a process, a part of our day-to-day.
My bright-eyed, lively five-year-old has many sides to her personality. On any given walk to school a passerby may see a seemingly different child each day—fluctuating between chatty, quiet, grumpy, eager, energetic, dragging, smiling, crying. Sometimes I think she has more sides than my attempts at solving a Rubik’s Cube.
Although my daughter’s many personalities keep me on my toes, one consistency that almost every person who observes our walks to school can attest: we are slow. In general, I am not a fast-paced girl. I seem to gravitate toward slow schedules—slow running, slow driving, slow eating.
I appreciate the unhurried state. Yet the day-after-day dawdling strolls at times leave me a bit impatient. I find myself quickening my pace, with a bit of edge in my stride and voice. By the time we returned home, I had shifted from a peaceful mama to a frazzled mama. A fresh perspective was required. A new daily attitude needed.
My daughter lives in an unhurried state. She dresses for the day at her own pace, twirling and spinning between dressing and brushing her teeth. She eats leisurely. No need to rush breakfast. Dessert? She savors that gooey roasted s’more while the rest are wiping their finished sticky faces. She dawdles. She sings. She snuggles and cuddles.
She embodies presence. I droll up an image of her side-by-side with the Zen master Thich Nhat Han—smelling the flowers, tasting each bite of food, washing their hands in complete, utter awareness. Having read several of this monk’s books and wise words, I get the basis of mindful living. But now I also get to live with a child who visibly lives the simple and slow life. The unhurried life. What is the rush?
I awaken. Perhaps it is okay to stop and savor the things of life. Maybe pausing to relish a bit each day will keep me grounded.
We linger at the table. We put on our happy clothes. Hold hands and stroll. Every day we stroll, slowing life to a pace of enjoyment. We stroll because we are where we need to be at that exact moment. We stroll because there are stories to tell. We stroll because life lessons are learned in this daily ritual. We stroll because we have wishing flowers to dream on. We stroll because life is fleeting. The journey—not the finish line—breathes life into our souls.
We can live life in a more unhurried pace. Let’s enjoy the journey. Gradually, we can create new habits, and, through the process, enjoy the sweet daily moments. Here are a few ideas of how to slow life’s pace:
- Create a ritual. Look right where you are and think outside the box. I always assumed that early mornings with a book, journal, and prayer was my daily ritual. Now I see there are everyday routines that allow the unhurried state to flow through. Find what works for you. Look in the most unexpected places.
- Give your attention. Focus on people. The more distracted society becomes, the more I appreciate a good dose of undivided attention. Put down the phone. Turn down (or off!) the TV. Set aside the to-do’s, need-to’s, and the shoulds for a few minutes.
- Move slower. Whether you slow down your walking, eating, or driving—simply slow down. The more you practice this, the more natural it becomes.
- Unplug. Unplug for one day, one weekend, or one month. Whether it is simply putting away your phone or disconnecting from social media for a while, set the intention to unplug. Noise is noise. Sometimes we need a little less noise in our life.
- Breathe. Take three deep breaths. That’s it. Three conscious breaths can sometimes be enough to regroup and reinstate a sense of calm. We breathe all the time, right? Let’s make a few of those breaths mindful and unhurried.
Stepping away from our chronic state of hurried and busy allows us to regroup, reconnect, and recharge. A life less hurried is a life more sweetly savored.
QUESTION: What is one step you can take today to live a life less hurried?
CHALLENGE: Choose one way to slow your life. Set the intention, write it down, and practice it until it becomes a natural flow in your life.
Edited by Megan Roxas and Becky Fawcett.
Image from Shutterstock; graphics by Julie Finlayson.
I’m there with you. I love a slower life. When I do the dishes it takes twice or more time what others take. And that’s true with everything. My 3 year old is similar.
But what do you do when your husband thrives on speed, in everything? At 6’4″ he walks fast; starting his own business, he counts every minute or simply goes faster; he brushes his teeth in seconds; he unbuckles his seat belt while pulling onto our street.
I’ve learned to start the getting-ready-to-go process extra early so that he doesn’t feel late and we don’t feel all the pressure. Do you have other tips for helping my children to bridge the gap between mom-pace (when dad isn’t there) and dad-pace? I don’t want constant meltdowns and I don’t want resentment.
Diamonds or Dandelions
by Melanie
Smiling at my shirt, the little dandelion seeds were sticking there happily. They’d been blown by my daughter, Marie, and I. She was giggling like mad. Her eyes shined bright. The seeds were scattered through out my long, frizzly hair. In our dash to catch them, they’d even flown into our mouths! Their billows had blown all over the courtyard!
Dandelion seeds are fluffy. As we’d found out earlier, they taste cottony. It was especially funny, another time, when one had gotten caught in her throat. I didn’t know it was a dandelion seed that was stuck there at first… Silly Marie! She and I were currently leaving the hospital.
After our dandelion giggle-fest, she told me she’d made a wish to show me something. At first she insisted. Then she asked it with a, “Pretty please?” You know, “Those magic words.” Standards really do matter. (When she asks, I pray about it. If it edifies, then I agree and we go forward.) Then she zipped ahead toward some large stairs. These led to a place where some pigeons and birds had been during a previous visit. Suddenly re-emerging, she exploded into a goofy-chase of, “Birdy, will-you-be-my-friend, pweeeeze?”
She came crashing back down the stairs as they hopped and starting flap-whapping away from her. Her grin was ecstatic! The birds were alive! They were real and, for a little girl who had to spend most of her life stuck in a sunlight-less apartment and no park to go to, to see life was…there is no word for it. (For her, from age 2 to 4 and 1/2, I’d been on a severe form of chemotherapy. It was finally over, yet it’d been very hard on all of us.)
Marie stood at the base of the stairs, by the circle that went around the trees and the bushes. She gently requested if she and I could go around together this time. I could feel her heart. So, I went over and parked the stroller. The rain was dripping a tidbit, just a tidbit. The leaves and foliage were splattered with droplets and she wanted to go on a safari. So…on SAFARI we went!!!
The jungle was about 30 ft. by 30 ft.. There were no pigeons or birds this time. I felt like we were explorers in the underbrush. There were no panthers or sloths or anacondas. There were mosquitoes though. They looked like dandelion seeds, dandelion seeds blowing in the breeze, ones that could bite us if they chose to.
Marie started clapping them with glee! It was great, hearty fun until these dandelion-like mosquitoes suddenly transformed into flying black panthers with razor sharp teeth at the tips of their proboscis’ (isn’t that just the worst scientific name for those horrid, horrid things?) Their attack was fierce! We were smacking and wacking them with zest! We’d cheer with all our might each time we’d splat one flat! When the onslaught became too much, we shriek-scrambled out of the ferocious caiman, head hunter, boa constrictor infested jungle as fast as we could! We were very glad, yet quite winded from our exotic adventure! Whew!
Marie plopped herself into the black and bronze stroller. Our eyes met each others’. Our souls smiled. Then, as we tootled off to the subway station, we saw many more of the miniature, fluffy-puffy, seeded dandelion heads waiting before us. They were standing tall and resolute in the breeze. Marie and I stopped and picked bunches of them every few feet. We’d pull the wispy, feather-like, white seeds, or passus’, up and then “fa-whip” them up high into the air! You see, they are part of a very silly game we’d invented!
The game is called “Fairy Blossoms or Angel Blossoms.” The first step is to find dandelion blossoms that have gone to seed, or “Seed Blossoms.” The size of the seeds can range from miniature to extra large, depending on the plant and where you live. Next, the seeds must be blown into the wind GLORIOUSLY!!! If any of the seeds can be caught, then the catcher calls out “Fairy Blossom” or “Angel Blossom.” This announces to all playing that a wish or a prayer to give thanks or a request for blessings is going to be said.
Fairies grant wishes, things like requesting a ride on a magical sea horse or flying like a Violet Sabrewing humming bird through an enchanted garden in May, or turning into a hiccuping anteater. These can be a riot to imagine. They can lead to amazing make believe stories.
For example: Once upon a time there was a goofy, bug-eyed, anteater Nerd-Spinster who had an exceptionally long nose. She also wore dark-rimmed glasses and had a severe, stress-related hiccuping disorder. To top it all off, she adored mustard-soaked ants too. Luckily, there was a nearby minimart that sold them. In order to avoid stress triggers, she’d shuffle out at 2 AM. Dressed in antique, Victorian boots, a vintage bag, and a velvet hat, she’d clank along, her worse fear beginning to seep into the forefront of her mind. You see, teens were enough to explode her into a hiccuping-sneezing-snorting typhoon!
Angels, on the other hand, are a reminder to say prayers to God. He helps miracles happen. He guides us to purify our hearts, and listens to and answers prayers.
After a few hours of story making and praying, we arrived home. The stroller was covered with dandelion left overs and seeds, and, of course, we were too. On one of our walks, Marie and I had decided we’d imagine that our diamonds would be dandelions, and since then we’ve collected them everywhere we go. We imagined how rich we’ll be if we did! Just think of the clouds at sunset our family could fly through, the snowy mountains we could innertube together, and the Friesian horse ranch we could have!
This last Anniversary, I gave my Honey, Chris, a handful of the miniature Angel Blossoms as a gift. It was wonderful to see those miniature seeds blowing and sailing all around us! We caught them with all our might!!! Then we knelt and prayed together in thanks for all the blessings and miracles we’d been given since the Stage 4 diagnosis. That was almost 7 years ago! Marie was one of the biggest of those blessings, miracles, if you will. We’d planned to have 6 children when we married. At the time of the diagnosis though, we‘d only had 5. So we prayed! She is baby #6. Marie’s in Preschool now! Oh, how prayer enhances perspective and adds salt as seasoning, overflowing its savor into our lives!!!