Hello you,
Last Tuesday, in the bleary darkness before dawn, I stepped out my front door into a surprisingly mild spring morning. The echo of my partner’s sleepy kisses (and her solemn request that I not get eaten by a shark) were still warm on my skin as I sunk into the back seat of a cab.
An hour and a half battle through London traffic, several snaking airport queues, a seventeen hour flight with a merciful empty middle seat and a thousand pandemic babies being taken to meet the rellies, a transit in Darwin, the blast of air conditioning against hot tropical air, a couple more hours winging south across a continent as the waxing moon rose above the wing, and a tearful reunion later, I arrived in my other home.
At least in body. It took the rest of me a few days to catch up.
I heard Tias Little on a podcast years ago, talking about the way that the rush of modern life impacts us bodily. How the go go go of it all gets caught in our bodies, and pulls us from ourselves.
He’s not wrong. And, honestly, there are times when I’ve called in the distraction with open arms. Stayed busy, moved fast, and filled every empty moment with activity (or at least the faux activity of fiddling with my phone). Because it’s not all sunshine and unicorns being present.
It’s there that we find discomfort, pain. It’s there that we have to face up to ourselves. The needs we’re turning away from so as not to rock the boat, the feelings that arise in contrast to what we ‘should’ be feeling, the desires we are too ashamed to admit.
When we move fast, and stay distracted, it’s all too easy to skim over those things. Sweep the messy parts of ourselves under the rug and numb out. To leave ourselves, over and over.
That abandonment is something I’m trying to do less of these days.
And so, despite the addictive urge to keep barrelling forward at the speed of flight, I had to intentionally slow down to human pace. Far slower than my ego would’ve preferred.
It took the waves of the Indian Ocean (no sharks), soft feet on hot pavement, rain rattling on an old tin roof, the scent of wet eucalyptus, many slow breaths, and an afternoon soaking up the dangerously pointy Australian sun to really land here. To feel present and three-dimensional again.
Of course, you don’t need to fly to the other side of the world to do this. But if you feel like you’re moving too fast, your life a whirling merry-go-round spiraling out of control, might I suggest slowing the fuck down? Even if it’s uncomfortable. Even if it’s messy. Even if your immediate reaction to that suggestion was a semi-conscious list of all the reasons you couldn’t possibly.
Take your shoes off and stand on the grass. Turn your face to the sun and feel its rays warm your skin. Do one thing at a time instead of three. Stay with yourself for just a little longer.
Yelling into the internet
Listen. I know we’ve all been pretty intensively online for the past couple of years. I know everybody wants a minute of your time or to sell you something or take attention that you don’t really want to give. I know it’s easy to scroll on by and click away.
But if you’re interested in what I do, I would love your help. And that help comes in the shape of your opinion.
Come fill in my yearly survey. Tell me what’s up for you right now, and I’ll be able to create things that will actually help you. Plus you’ll get my eternal gratitude, which I don’t fling around willy nilly.
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