Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

“Be Good, take care of yourselves, and don’t leave the path.”

--Gandolf (from The Hobbit)

 

What is it with women? Why do we feel the need to do everything perfectly and all at once—to bite off more than we can chew, as the saying goes? I say “we” but might as well admit that it should be “I.” Unfortunately, I’m one of those people who figures that if ten crunches a day are supposed to flatten my stomach, then two hundred must be even better. (Not that I’ve every really tried this, or that ten crunches would actually flatten anything except for maybe my chest, or that I could find the motivation to do 200 pseudo sit-ups for more than a day.) When my kids were younger and I read about a plan to get them to help around the house, I went for it full throttle, designing complex chore charts that even I couldn’t understand but which I enforced like an old codger of a PE coach counting down the days to retirement. In a matter of weeks I reduced our house to a juvenile detention center rather than an oasis of love and learning. (Remember that movie Mommy Dearest? One of my biggest fears is that my kids will one day see that show and turn to me and say, “Gee, Mom, that lady reminds me of you.”) For a while I was into a program conceived by a woman who calls herself Flylady  to reduce my clutter and clean my home. She advised newbies to her program to take “baby steps,” meaning that we were to learn one new skill a week (or maybe it was a month).  But I was not into baby steps, having too many babies at the time causing their own kind of clutter. I wanted a leap frog program, kind of a big bang theory of house cleaning that would magically transform my house and me into model citizens. I scoffed at Flylady’s suggestion that merely making my bed and getting dressed—neither of which I was doing on a regular basis—would be enough to start. But I have to admit she was right. The moral of the story is (and always will be) if you bite off more than you can chew, you might just choke. And if there’s no one around who knows the Heimlich, it’s very hard to rescue yourself.

This is why, when I went to a church program last night about slowing down and taking care of ourselves, I not only listened, I took copious notes. Because summer’s coming, my brain has been hard at work making a list of goals to accomplish with all the free time we’ll have (which is just a lie my mind tells me every spring. You will have hours more in each day without school in the way, it says. But it never seems to work that way.) Yet, intuitively I know that if I don’t watch it, I’m going to end up flat on my bum, literally sick and tired. As of Monday, my summer goal list looked something like this: start teaching again, amp up my photography, post something brilliant on my blog every single day, run a half-marathon in the fall, refinish an old dresser that’s been sitting in the garage for years now, sell granola at the farmer’s market, learn how to cook, plant a flower garden, visit my family in California, read a book every week, play with my kids, teach my kids to cook, take the kids swimming every day, read scriptures every day as a family, read a book with my kids every week, run a summer reading program, write articles and take pictures, learn how to make French pastries, learn how to eat French pastries every day without looking like the Michelin Man or the Pillsbury Dough Boy, improve my ability lead music, paint the bathrooms and the laundry room, and learn how to not only play basketball but to like it too.  Mind you, this is just the short list. If you give me a minute, I’m sure there are about twenty more things I could add.  

So this wise woman by the name of Zella told us about how as a young mother she had tried to take care of everyone and everything except herself. Sleeping and eating well were last on her persnoal to-do list. Being productive and perfect were her focus. After years of this, she ended up sick, unable to do much of anything. “I was compelled to slow down,” as Zella put it. But in her stillness, she felt closer to God. She enjoyed her children more when she wasn’t constantly spinning in circles. “I had been so busy doing things for them, that I forgot to do things with them,” she said. This sounded familiar to me. Sometimes I wonder what would happen if instead of signing our kids up for little league sports with all their practices, games, and sports camps, we went to the park and played with them. They might not end up in the NBA, but chances are they might not end up in therapy telling their doctor all about my Mommy Dearest episodes either.

The point is, Zella discovered that “the quieter [she] became, the more [she] heard.” And what she heard was that she didn’t need to spin through her life like a tornado. There’s something to be said for taking it slow. For one thing, you develop sensitive ears that can detect a note of sadness in a child’s voice when you ask how school went and he answers only “Fine.” And you will find truth to a line in Jamie Lee Curtis’ book Is There Really a Human Race? : “There are beautiful things to see when you come in last.” Tornado living is like riding the TGV, the fastest train in Europe that zips you through the countryside so fast you hardly know you’ve been there. The TGV is all about the destination. But when you take the slow train, it’s about the journey as well. You can see and enjoy what you move through to get where you want to end up. Writing this makes me feel better about how slowly I have to run through the neighborhood nowadays. Though I’ll never be speedy, by keeping a snail’s pace I’ve seen things and heard things I might not otherwise. Just today I ran (or slogged, to be more accurate) past a house with dozens of blazing red tulips in the front yard. This is the same route I’ve run for the last five years. But this is the first time I’ve seen the tulips. Suddenly, my summer list looks a bit…unreasonable. Crazy, even. 

And so it goes with the process of living. Zella quoted The Hobbit when she said, “Be good, take care of yourselves, and don’t leave the path.” The path may be different for each of us. But the need to take Flylady baby steps applies to all. And of course, we should all listen to our mothers and remember our manners, or rather, what matters: Take small bites, chew, and swallow. Or at least learn the Heimlich. 

Comments

[LauraB.]

Wise words from a wise woman.

[Laurie]

wow, great insight! I am Kelli Trounce's sister, and she said i would love this...she was right. I run around like the speed of light (or wish i could) and feel out of touch at times. I really enjoyed your thoughts on slowing down, thanks so much.
Laurie

[Hillary]

This is a good reminder. I read a newspaper article the other day that said our kids will probably live to be about 80 years old. Of those 80 years they will live with us for only 20. So we should spend those 20 years not only teaching them, but building happy memories by spending meaningful time with them. I think that is so true.

[MaryB]

Superb writing, as always! And excellent advice that we should all take!

I love you--you're such a good role model!