Slow

When I was a little girl, my parents taught me that it was bad to be slow. I needed to be the best, the first, the smartest, the fastest. I was never the best, the first, the smartest, the fastest, and the shame burned deep and hot. Shame wasn't a thing I understood as a child - I didn't have a word for it, except that I knew that if I misbehaved my parents were ashamed of my behavior, or that I "ought to be ashamed" of myself. I associated the feeling of not being the best with a feeling of discomfort, fear, and a quick promise to myself to do better, to be the best next time.

But mostly I learned to hide how slow, slovenly, and mistaken I was. I pretended to feel like all was well, even when it wasn't. This was wise: mistakes were not tolerated, and were a sign of poor character.

It felt breathless and spinning and confusing and faint, and not in a good way.

So, I tried to go faster, do better, be better. I tried to be a Good Girl and rid myself of the breathless, faint feelings by living up to the standard. Sometimes I was successful: I put myself through college, working overtime to pay for it. I would read economics textbooks on the Stairmaster after work (a gym membership provided by my employer), maxing out the level for 45 minutes (the maximum amount of time), highlighter in my hand as I tried to study and go as fast as I could. Even just thinking of that, I'm exhausted. I felt proud of myself - not ashamed - and so I kept going, but it was so utterly exhausting.

***

When I go fast, people smile and encourage me. I used to run half marathons, and I was so proud of my sub-two time; it wasn't any kind of record at all, but I felt like I'd arrived when I hit that time. When I keep so busy that I'm half falling down as I go, I get so much praise about my energy and my accomplishments. My entire life, I have fed upon that praise, with each laudatory phrase filling up the empty parts of me that were rotted away from the shame.

Some of that's good. I've accomplished a few things.

But it's exhausting, and unsatisfying.

***

Yesterday on my walk, I listened to the Brene' Brown podcast interview with Alicia Keys, and was blown away when Alicia Keys said that she'd spent her whole life trying to be a good girl, and that despite her success, she felt like she was doing things someone else's way, and she was unsatisfied and unhappy.

This shook me a little. I've often felt like that, and put those feelings into the "you should be ashamed" box inside myself. But if the glorious, inspirational, talented, successful, and wildly empowering Ms. Keys felt like that, maybe, just maybe, those feelings were crazy. Because I may not know much, but I know for sure that I find inspiration in Alicia Keys, and that there is no way she deserves to feel like that. And, of course, it occurs to me that if Alicia Keys has to fight to shake off those feelings, that maybe I can fight off those feelings, too.

***

During the coronavirus quarantine, we are all forced to slow down. We do not need to climb out of bed before dawn to make the lunches and get into the commute. Heck - we don't even need to wear real pants, as all of the sweatpants/yoga attire/sleepwear memes attest. We cannot go to the exciting events, we cannot try out the new restaurant, we cannot host fabulous parties. We cannot shop, except to go to the grocery store (and we do that somewhat furtively, masked and darting around other shoppers).

There is nobody to see, and the hectic pace of daily life has suddenly slowed.

At first, this felt shocking, equal parts terrifying and decadent. But now it has been over a month - 38 days since work in the building ended, if I'm counting properly - and time has changed, and I've changed. Everything is slower, and I love it.

I love the way that I sleep in later than I used to; my body thanks me.
I love the way that we're cooking real food every day, with green things and whole grains, and from scratch; my body thanks me.
I love the way I go for walks or runs in the middle of the day, standing on the edge of the shore, carelessly letting time slip away.
I love that I have resumed baking bread, trying new recipes.
I love that I have picked up a new creative hobby, and have started making jewelry.
I love that my daughter and I are playing board games again. (We like Mancala.)
I love that I am not using nearly as much gas, and that I'm being kinder to the environment.

On Easter, we spent a couple of days baking cookies, and then spent most of a day delivering different plates of them to our friends. We had some social distancing visits - we brought camping chairs, and set up at the edges of our friends' yards, and just sat and talked for a while, perhaps 15 feet away. They didn't wait on us - no food or drink, no passing of dishes, no preparing - and it was surprisingly delightful. It filled me with gratitude, and the hope that I could make it through quarantine, no matter how long it lasts.

I would not have taken two days to make and deliver cookies in a normal world. I would have been too busy, too concerned about chores, activities, rest. I couldn't have done it without really psyching myself into it.

But now, I can.

***

The longer this quarantine lasts - and we know that our city will be shut down until May 4th, and that school isn't returning this year (so my quarantine goes on that long, at least) - the more I'm starting to... I fear I'm about to commit blasphemy by saying this... the more I'm starting to enjoy being home only with Tessa and our pets.

I like the quiet.
I love being slow.

I do not want to be the fastest. I do not want to be the best (who is the judge of "best" anyway?).

I want to be me.
I want to be authentic.
I want to live wisely and well.
I want to be peaceful.

I don't want to run around like a crazy person. I don't want to be so tired that the simplest tasks feel like they take too much energy. I don't want to paste a smile on my face as I keep goinggoinggoing.

I want to stare out the window and watch the rain. I want to wander on the beach looking for shells. I want to write my thoughts down, and have time to finish them. I want to read books until my eyes are weary, fighting sleep because I'm too interested to stop. I want to move my body every day. I want to live in a house that smells like baking bread. I want to laugh with my daughter.

Simple things.

***

The world told me to go fast, and my parents sent me the message that the things I love, the way I am, was unacceptable, and that I would have to conform in order to satisfy. (I forgive them. They were passing along the messages given to them; they had no idea of their impact.)

What I want, now, is to go at my own pace. Sometimes my pace is so quiet and slow that I can't even recognize myself, I've lived in this costume of myself for so long.

I'm breathing at my own pace.
I'm reading at my own pace.
I'm running and walking at my own pace.

And right now, that pace is slow, and the slowness is a gift.

***

The world tells us to hurry up, to rush to go-go-go. We love go-getters. We love up-and-at-ems. We admire pulling-up-by-the-bootstraps.

But what *I* admire is Mary Oliver's idea that perhaps all we should be doing is wandering in the fields. What if the answers are actually in the fields? What if all of this rushing and going and scurrying about doesn't make us wiser and stronger, but instead it makes us just rats on the treadmill, miserable?

I think, somehow, that I've stumbled on a secret (my secret, anyway - yours might be different). My whole life I thought that more and faster was the way to go (20 credits a quarter plus working while in grad school, what was I thinking?!).

I was wrong.

I want to wander in the forest, picking up pinecones and examining them.

I want to spend enough time with my daughter that her thoughts come tumbling out, on her own pace.

I want to cook, and eat, healthy food.

I want to be creative.

I want to settle my brain down enough to think.

***

I am one of the lucky ones. I'm still working from home, I live in a comfortable place big enough for my daughter and I to find our own spaces when we need them, and I live in a beautiful part of the world where I can walk to a forest or the ocean when my soul needs reprieve (and I can socially distance there, too). These days I'm pretty healthy, and so is Tessa, so I'm not as worried about getting sick. I know that my life is filled with luxuries - fresh food, comfortable clothes, books, music - that others only dream of. I'm safe in my little bubble, and that is why I can slow down and find the good in a global pandemic, but make no mistake, I do not take my fortune for granted and I ache for those who are suffering.

If you are suffering, I send you my love. May you find prosperity and health, so that you too may have my fortune.

***

I am slowing down. After years of trying to prove that I wasn't, as my father put it, a "moron", and trying to prove that I am smart and there for worthy, fast and therefore worthy, I've decided that I'm probably a slow learner. I am content with that, because I am learning, and because the lessons are better when I get them (because some people never get their lessons).

I'm living slowly. I'm being slow. I'm a slow learner, and I'm at peace with that.