Tag: self-reflection

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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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Blank Slates

This morning, I found myself with an unexpected Sunday home alone. No kids, no adults, no meetings, no travel. My day was a blank slate, a gift of time.

As I looked into the opportunity of the day, I found myself consciously resisting the urge to fill the space, in spite of litanies of work and domestic duties and even reaching out to others that I could have done.

It has been restorative, and it also has me considering all of the blank slates in our lives. We have the ability to realize these canvases for rest, reflection, and creation. But we have become conditioned to fill each gap, to turn to our phone screens in moments of silence, to start the next thing.

It has taken a lot of self-work to get to this place, where I can make a conscious choice to hit the pause button when I see it. That said, I am also using part of today’s canvas to create.

Humans are creators by our very nature. Our need to express ourselves, to explore ideas, to find ways to unite and understand and listen and learn: these need tending. They need a canvas.

However, blank canvases can also be overwhelming. (This overwhelm is often part of why art directors supply storyboards to artists, along with a means to jumpstart a conversation around finding a shared vision.) Facing a silent moment, a blank page, an empty score, an unscheduled day: these all have the power to help us turn inward.

If you aren’t in a place of comfort or familiarity with that source—your inner self—then a blank slate can be unnerving. But it can also be the perfect and same space to start to know yourself a little better. And that is an excellent creative space to explore.

Whatever your means of expression and rest look like, and wherever you are along your journey of personal evolution, I encourage you to seek out these moments. We don’t need entire days as a canvas—but we do need to start breaking the habit of reflexively filling free moments with things that aren’t our true mediums. It’s in those moments that we can reconnect with our own humanity. And in doing that, we can better connect with others.

P.S. I would love to know: Are you actively resisting the urge to escape into distraction rather than reflection or creation? Where are you finding or protecting moments that feed your creativity? Do you recognize blank slates?

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18 Months

Tomorrow marks 18 months since the last “normal” Friday. Since the last day I sent my kids to school and child care without a mask. Since I did a public speaking event in person.

Today, Axel got on the bus. He started Kindergarten. Reese, a newly minted second grader, was with him, both as shepherd and chaperone. They had masks. They had new backpacks. They were so excited.

And here I am, with a full workday to myself, on what looks like a glimpse of the new normal, (although we all know it isn’t; none of us truly knows what that will look like).

I am all of the expected parental emotions: happy and sad and stunned once again at the blink of time that is parenting. I am worried about the regular school things (Will they make friends? Will they be a good friend? Will they like their teachers? Will their teachers like them? Will they learn what they need to learn?) And I’m worried about the now-regular pandemic things (Will they get sick? Will they lose their masks? Will they remember to wash their hands throughout the day? Will their teachers stay healthy?).

What has fully caught me off guard this morning, however, is the quietest of things: a simple bit of headspace.

For a few brief hours, however fraught, the day is suddenly mine. It has been 18 months since I even dared to consider such a thing.

The immediate reflex to fill this space with work and chores and social media and news distractions sits with me. It has become my autopilot. Yet, I see that for what it is: an easy means to escape all these other feelings and thoughts, things that very likely deserve some reflection of their own.

If you are currently set on survival autopilot, I wish you the space today to hit the pause button.

Yes, we all have so much to do. But there is also so much worth pausing for. And, at least for today, I am grateful to have liberty to choose the latter.