In the manual of things my children have taught me, one of thickest chapters is about the gift of slowing down. Mind you, I haven’t always seen this as a gift, especially when there are realities like clocks and deadlines and tardies and hard stops. Since becoming a mom, I’m slower than I used to be. But to my surprise, this has an unexpected upside. Turns out, there’s a lot more to notice in a lower gear.
As Barbara Brown Taylor says, “The child has only recently learned how to walk, so she still knows how.” My kids know things I need to relearn, like how to spot a roly-poly on the sidewalk or how to hear the hum of an airplane overhead. When I’m rushing from A to B, or when my mind is borrowing trouble from the past or the future, I tend to miss the beauty right under my nose.
There are a lot of possibilities when it comes to slowing down, but for me, one of the surefire ways is to be literal about it: to choose a slower mode of transportation.
When we’re riding our bikes instead of driving, we notice the flash of fuchsia flowers tucked among the dandelions.
When we’re walking instead of getting around on wheels, we see our neighbors on their front porch and stop to say hello.
When we’re reading on a blanket on a sunny afternoon instead of going places, we leave enough space for a white butterfly to land beside us.
It’s true that technology can make us more efficient. It can get us there faster and without breaking a sweat. But no chatbot has the heart required to write a love letter. No blue glow can take the place of a field of lightning bugs on an August evening. A phone can’t hold your hand while you look for the Big Dipper.
I am grateful for the added margin technology can create in our lives. But what will we miss out on if we erase the struggle altogether? What will happen to our souls if we outsource the ability to create? What will atrophy inside us if we lose the ability to wonder? If not us, who will stand amazed under a starlit sky? How will we hear the still, small voice of God if we always have earbuds in?
Today, I resolve to be bored. To not know. To daydream. To find shapes in the clouds. To embrace mystery. To be blissfully inefficient.
And when I’m tempted to say things like “Hurry up,” may I instead say, “Thank you.”
Above all, trust in the slow work of God.
Pierre Teilhard De Chardin
