Almost every experience is better when it’s done slowly.
A cup of roasted drip coffee.
Drinking piping hot tea.
Soft and sensual love making.
A hearty pot of pho that’s been simmering at 18+ hours.
A conversation catching up with an old friend.
Starting a camp fire.
Roasting marsh mellows.
The burst of flavors you get from a freshly baked loaf of bread.
Gentle eye contact during a conversation.
Building a relationship.
Lifting weights and building muscle.
Reading a book.
Processing feelings.
Physical touch.
Growing a garden.
Falling in love.
Telling a story.
Browsing an old bookstore.
Savoring a pastry.
Smelling the fragrant scent of flowers.
Learning to love yourself.
It all feels better when we take our time.
When we remind ourselves that there is no rush.
In parenthood, I often hear the phrase “the days are long but the years are short” and I can see where it comes from. Especially now as a mom who spends her days home with her child.
I’ve noticed something quite life-changing happens—
We are forced to live in the present moment.
Because as children, the present is all their developing brains can process.
They do not lament on what happened yesterday.
They do not have ruminating thoughts spinning around like the cycle of a washing machine until it wears them out.
They are not analyzing their way out of or into a situation.
They are not thinking about tomorrow.
Their attention is completely captivated by the present moment and whatever it is that is front of them.
It becomes a nudge for us to do the same.
Everything is slower with a child.
The other day I took my daughter to a local hiking trail.
As we got out the car and started our walk, part of the path was paved with rocks and my daughter loves loves lovesssss to play with rocks. She will pick them up and feel each one. She will take a couple and tap them together to make different sounds. Then as we continue to walking, she’ll pick up some more. She will hold on to them so tight but sometimes she’ll find some that she likes more than others so she’ll drop those and pick up the new ones. She will hold onto as many as she can— sometimes 3-4 in one hand! You should see the grip she has on these rocks, as if she guards them with her life. And when she has too many that she really likes and there is no more room for her to hold them, she will pass some off to me or her father so I can hold onto them.
If I was hiking this trail alone, I would’ve already made it down the path, up the hill, through the woods, down the stream and around the corner.
But instead, I’m here — with her — as she stops every few steps to pick up more rocks.
Now I could either dread the rest of the hike or I could become animated and investigate every rock with her.
I could enlarge my eyeballs, raise my eyebrows and shout out a fully heart-centered “wow”.
I could marvel in God’s creation the same way I used to when I was just a few years old on Earth.
And it could truly change my life.
It could take me out of the busyness that is my mind.
You know they say children make everything go slower.
And quite honestly, it would be so much easier to not involve them.
Whether it’s going for a hike or cooking or cleaning or arts and crafts—
It’s so much easier to just do it on your own.
Of course right? Especially when you can do it easier, faster and better.
But if you were to keep doing it on your own for those reasons then you’re missing the point.
Children make the days go by slower, yes—
but maybe that’s the whole point
and we’re missing the point.
Maybe their role is to remind us as adults who’s developed brains is so caught up in the next this and the next that to slow down too.
Maybe their role is to show us how impatient we’ve become, how quick we’re triggered, how fast we react.
Because we’re too caught up in the next moment.
Because we think that the next moment is more important—
as if it holds the key to our happiness and our peace.
But peace is found when we relinquish the control to project what the next moment could be and instead we surrender to the moment unfolding in front of us.
As I took more awareness of the rocks, I also began to notice the subtle things.
I noticed the leaves on the trees swaying, how brightly green they were this time of the year.
I noticed the sun peeking through the branches.
The hilarious sounds of the frogs ribitting in the pond.
The field of wild flowers.
The colorful butterflies!
—Oh, the playful colorful butterflies!
And I open my arms, lean back, gaze my head into the sky, take a deep breath and soak up that moment.
The feeling of gratitude fills me.
It not fills me but it fuels me.
A true life-giving moment.
The moment I would be missing, if I wanted to skip my way through a path of rocks.
They’re just rocks.
But to her, they are the whole entire world.
And to me, she is my whole entire world.
Eventually, it was almost time to get back for her nap so I put her in my carrier and we enjoyed the rest of the hike together. The tone was set and she was soaking it up the entire time, pointing to things she noticed and saying “wow” when she saw a waterfall.
Oh what I would be missing if I sped it up. If I hit the fast forward button my life.
If I rushed.
The years would feel even shorter.
Like a blur of fainted memories that I can barely make out in my mind.
But instead, I stay here, by the rocks and know that eventually she will be ready to leave and see the next sight.
And when she is ready, I will guide her.
I will nurture her attention to appreciate the present moment.
I will raise a child who marvels in it all — who will feel unapologetic about soaking it up and slowing it all down.
I will raise a child who takes her sweet time taking in all the beauty this Earth has to share.
Who will appreciate it.
I will raise a child who knows in her heart that slowing down is the new speeding up—
And she will know peace. 🍵
Warmly,
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