Slow Down, Come Undone

stay awhile ...

It seems as though I need to revisit some of the important lessons I learned on my summer trip. I’ve become increasingly aware of the frantic pace of our lives here in Southern Ontario and it agrees with me less than it ever has before. Everyone’s always hurrying somewhere and multitasking and stressed out and cramming so many activities into their day that they wonder why they always feel agitated and confused and snappish and bleary-eyed and kinda sorta dead …

I thrive in serenity; chaos makes me a zombie.

I’ve heard others say that when flying or driving into Ontario from other provinces, you can feel the stress and tension and  sense of go-go-go in the atmosphere. Whether or not you are spiritually sensitive or in tune with emotional climates, you can’t help but admit that we’re a stressed out bunch and it’s robbing us of our happiness, our liveliness, our peace, and ourselves.

We work, and we work, and we work, and we become mindless drones … For what? For more money? If money is the price we pay for our health, our sanity, and our wholeness, then clearly we must be doing something wrong.

I could slow down for a little while ...

I resent being part of a (capitalist) society that values my productivity and profit over my person, that is more interested in company loyalty than my company, that seeks capital over community, that would rather I become an exhausted, overwhelmed, eye-twitching, rash-skinned robot for the Almighty Dollar than an enthusiastic, peaceful, thriving, and alive individual with opinions and a pulse.

Something’s gotta give.

Surely we are more than our job descriptions, surely there’s more to our lives than what’s in our wallets and surely we’re valuable beyond how well we perpetuate the system.

We’re human beings, not commodities.

Yet this is not what I see. When I was traveling, I saw a different way of living that appealed to me. Even though these places were by no means third world or impoverished, they were still a lot less affluent than what I’m used to here. Wee villages in Scotland and Northern Ireland, somewhat remote, far from booming metropolises and the excitement of cities … there was something so laid-back and peaceful about those communities that made me feel like I belonged, like my heart was at rest and my soul at ease.

Now I’m back to the “real world,” and I have to tell you, I’ve lost a lot of what I learned there and I’m desperate to get it back. Life is so busy, so frantic with its false urgency and immediacy that I’m wondering if it’s all worth it. If our running around and doing is costing us our humanity.

words to live by

The other day I was outside of my work when an older woman tripped over a bike rack by Shoppers Drug Mart and fell. I went to help her up and make sure she was okay because I thought, you know, it’s a human instinct to help someone. Not so. What struck me is that there were a lot of people going in and out of Shoppers and no one stopped to help her, and if anyone working at Shoppers had seen her fall, no one came outside. When I told someone about this later, they replied, “Well of course not. No one wants to be liable and no one can afford to get sued.”

How sad is it that our jobs and our money mean more to us than someone’s health and wellness? But that is the selfish axis upon which the first world turns …

I’ve been noticing how much I can get sucked into the vacuum of personal prosperity and the self-absorption that can overcome me when preoccupied with my own busyness and bustling. I have less time to sit and enjoy an individual’s presence; when I’m at work I don’t make eye contact and am too focussed on getting things done as fast as possible to be more productive and procure more profit for the company (even though the company for which I work prides itself on genuine human interactions, it is still a massive corporation existing in a capitalist world which is a flaw within the system and not in the company itself); manners fall by the wayside; the smallest things annoy me; hurriedness breeds exhaustion which results in a perma-grumpy zombie.

And so I’ve resolved to slow down:

to make eye contact, to listen, to give someone the time of day, to get there when I get there, to relish small pleasures, to enjoy my food and beverages the way they were meant to be enjoyed instead of wolfing them down, to be a courteous and patient driver, to allow for silences, to study the clouds and the sky in the morning and in the evening, to listen to birdsong, to make time for myself, to say no, to not take on too many commitments just because I should but not because I really want to, to use my manners, to read the whole paper, to use proper grammar, to lessen my distractions, to give my full attention to one thing at a time, to not be overbooked, to take the scenic route, to smell the flowers, to sit quietly in stillness, to trust God’s timing in everything and strive just a little less each day.

And I also commit to frequently come undone:

to abandon all fear and stress and worry and distraction and to lose myself in poetry, in lines of verse that jump out and grab me, in absorbing novels, in cloud formations, in bodies of water, in the sound of wind, in perfectly orchestrated moments … and most of all, in sweet music that embalms the soul.

Last night I listened to Ray Lamontagne, eyes closed on my bed with the lights out and my arms outstretched. It was the most healing thing I could have done on a Friday night after a work week that kicked the crap out of me, and it made me feel a little more connected to myself and things that matter more than money.

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