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Slow Down

You move too fast.

Paul Simon wasn’t wrong. We are moving too quickly. As we continue to release technology that purportedly makes our lives easier (AI-written content and created art? Really?), our humanity is caught up in exactly the opposite state: one in which time feels more and more rushed and anything but easy.

The effect of technology “saving us time” is one in which we (falsely) feel like we should be able to do more. But if we haven’t placed true value on the present moment, on rest, on reflection—then what is that extra time buying us? More work. More “productivity.” More pressure to do, rather than to be.

A couple of weeks ago, my yoga instructor made the observation: “Not moving is the hardest thing we do.” His comment was multitudinous. A plyometric hold can be intense both physically and mentally. But being still with our own thoughts can also be intensely difficult. Being present—not moving our thoughts to the future or through the past—is a challenging practice. Not making choices and thereby remaining stuck in our lives—not moving—is hard on so many levels.

The risk of slowing down is that we might stop moving. And by not moving, we are getting into some of the hard stuff of life.

And that is also often where the best stuff happens. When we slow down, we can be present with our truest selves and thoughts. We can be present with the people who matter most. When we slow down, we can make choices about where to focus the finite time we have.

Although it often seems that our waking hours are reflexively filled (or overfilled), the truth is that we each set the pace of our own life. Setting that pace is a personal responsibility that also offers a measure of control and of letting go. We have to let go of the idea that we can (and must) do every single thing. If your time is extremely constrained, it might be the right time to ask how often you say yes automatically rather than slowing down to choose consciously whether you want to use your time in that way.

Slowing down gives us the space to choose. And in that space, we find freedom.

PS – If you’re seeking a great read on the topic of our finite time, 4,000 Weeks: Time Management for Mortals by Oliver Burkeman is extremely worthwhile.

PPS – If you need an exercise in being present, tap into your inner child and hold some space to play. I wrote a previous blog on the wonderful experience of suspended time that is so precious to childhood (and to adulthood, if we choose it).

PPPS – If you’re seeking a series that celebrates timeless childhood friendship and imagination, Maddie and Mabel is a perfect match.

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Finding Your Person

Maddie and Mabel book cover standing up in front of Maddie and Mabel illustration of them standing.

Growing up we lived in a town that came alive during the summertime but was sleepy in the
winter. There were very few people who lived in our neighborhood year round. It was just us. We
spent so much time together, the two of us and our imaginations. That was all we needed.

We could spend hours under a blanket fort or setting up shop beneath a chair to be car
mechanics. The couch became an airport counter in an instant, the stairs, the perfect stage to
perform our shows. We were each other’s built-in play date. Each other’s built-in best friend.

As sisters, we are a constant. No one quite understands us like we do. We know each other’s
stories. We know the what, the who and most importantly, the why. The inside and the out.

It doesn’t matter if we talk five times a day or don’t talk for five days. What matters is that we can
reach out whenever for whatever we need. We are each others’ touchstones. We hope that
everyone can find that someone in their lives, sibling or otherwise. Their Maddie or their Mabel,
whomever that may be.

—by Kari Allen and Kelsey McGloin

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The Relativity of Time and Play

Where does a month go? A day? A year?

Many conversations I’ve had in the past weeks included a discussion of time, and how, in our current state, it seems to have both sped up and slowed down. How the time-space continuum seems to have shifted in pandemic life. How our days blur together, but a single day disappears in a blink.

One of the things I love about children’s play is the suspension of time. They are completely absorbed in the action and their imaginations. Children’s play is often used as the ultimate example of “being in a state of flow.” Reading can create a similar lovely escape.

As adults, how often are we finding anything close to flow? What are we choosing to put into our days (perhaps even passively)? Whom are we permitting to spend our most precious and unquantifiable resource—our minutes here—for us?

As adults, we need to play, and perhaps now more than ever. Not just with the children in our lives, but with our own state of being. Put on your favorite song and dance. Build a tower of some sort, whether with blocks or Legos or playing cards. See if you can still somersault.

Giving yourself permission to play might seem like the absolute most unnecessary thing to do while in survival mode. But play can serve as the pause button so many of us are seeking right now.

(You’ll thank yourself for using that pause button, and the kids in your life will likely notice as well.)