When I finally ordered In Praise of Slowness by Carl Honore, it couldn’t get here fast enough. The day it arrived in the mail, I ripped open the package and couldn’t wait for bedtime (ie. a few quiet moments to read). But, at the same time I’m reading a new piece of French literature and wanted to spend some time on that.
So I told myself I would hurry up and read the first chapter of In Praise of Slowness, then I could turn to fiction. In fact, I couldn’t wait to get through to the end of the first chapter. And when I finally set that book down, I was anxious to pick up my next book. I lay there in bed, exhausted, fighting sleep for the sake of reading. My eyes began to shut, and I lay there for a moment doing absolutely nothing. And it felt good. But, I told myself, I need to pick up a book and read more, I can’t just sit here.
But isn’t that what I had just been reading about? The cult of speed? Our inability to do nothing?
So I didn’t. I didn’t pick up that book. I didn’t read any more. I just lay there. Silent. Still. And slowly drifted off to sleep. Content. Happy.
I wish my life were like that more often. I wish I embraced the slow. The quiet. The still.
It’s hard though. When you’re house-hunting. When you’re growing. When you’re moving. When life is in upheaval. When you wonder if there will ever be a new normal. When you feel like you’re in a hamster wheel.
I make it through the day one breath at a time these days.