february reflections
is it possible to slow down?
I chose to dedicate February to slowing down and then immediately booked multiple flights. I spent the month sleeping in seven different beds and floating through the air on seven different planes. I tend to lose my routines when I travel and this time was no different. I tend to lose traction when in the throes of grief and this was no different either. It’s easier to bustle around lost in distraction than feel the pain.
But! I'm happy to report that not all direction was lost and I did some practicing of what I preach. Navigating in and out of the tools in my toolbox and the feelings and the tears in the embrace of quiet, remarkable love.
Towards the beginning of the month, on the final leg of my journey to my midwestern hometown, I turned my phone to airplane mode and spent most of the three hours simply sitting - listening to music, closing my eyes, opening my eyes, gazing out the oval window, sipping shitty breakfast tea, witnessing emotions showing up in my body, welcoming them and feeling them pass through. I recognize this all sounds so much easier than it was in practice.
What struck me most during that flight was noticing my urges in the moments of discomfort - the urge for my phone to magically flip back on so I could connect with a friend; the urge to distract myself from the sinking knot in my stomach; the urge to move my body; the desperate urge to be there already. As much as they felt like they’d last forever, the urges never stayed for long and forced airplane mode brought a practice of slowing in itself. Back to my breath, back to the music, back to the way my body felt in the seat, back to the tension in my jaw. A practice in release.
The next week, I flew to the place that somehow still feels most like home. I made time to pull tarot cards and journal, though not nearly enough. I sent voice notes to friends and took long hot showers, enjoying the scent of the shampoo as I lathered my hair. I noticed when the feelings came up and made quiet space to allow them to pass through me, even when it hurt. After they processed through I would find something warm and cozy to occupy myself with: strolling to the cafe with a friend to gossip about the cute barista over a shared slice of coffee cake; curling up on the couch to chat the night away while a beloved old show played in the background; visiting old haunts that somehow still make my body feel like it’s home. Ups and downs, an embrace of the wholeness and togetherness of it all.
And then, because I am a human, I inevitably leaned far into distraction and away from the painful feelings until finally my body told me it was in fact *time to feel* and I unwillingly broke down in tears. I let myself be held through it by someone who loves me and got back to my morning pages the next day. Point in case: your body will make you slow down at some point. If you don’t do it of your own volition it may likely happen at an inopportune moment.
I share all of this with you because February was nothing like I had envisioned (neither is life, I suppose). I thought I could make this last month a time of simple slowness - of staring at mountains and creating a meditative labyrinth out of rocks and meandering up a dirt path with my dog. It was none of those things.
I imagine that you also do not spend your days moving rocks around in the dirt and staring at mountains. Neither do I, really. Life is messy and busy and exhausting and deeply upsetting and heart-stoppingly beautiful in its twisty ways. It’s incredibly hard to slow down amidst it all and I’m telling you that you can. No matter what you’re facing, I know you can.
As I moved through this past month, I often thought of the practice of slowing down when everything simultaneously felt like it was moving through molasas and at warp speed. I gathered some thoughts, some prompts, some unsolicited advice and quotes for you - no matter what season you’re in - and a few places my attention was focused this past month:
A mini slow down playlist I keep adding to <3
A quote on grief: “Moving on, as a concept, is for stupid people, because any sensible person knows grief is a long-term project. I refuse to rush. The pain that has thrust upon us let no man slow or speed or fix.” - Grief Is the Thing With Feathers
Body check in: take a sloowwww breath in, feel your lungs fill up - then take one more sip of air. When you breathe out, notice where your feelings are showing up. Welcome them, if you can. Breathe in, breathe out.
Reorient to the present moment. Ask yourself: what would be helpful right now? Can you engage with that, even for twenty seconds? (When I just asked my body this question, it told me it would be helpful if I put something in my stomach, so I am pausing to make a smoothie.)
A question to ask youself: where is one place you could slow down just a little? Can you turn the podcast off when you get in the shower and simply be with the bubbles in silence? Can you leave five minutes early to walk slowly to the train and notice details of the brownstones you pass? Start small.
Find a creative practice that forces you to slow down. Pottery is amazing for this because your hands are so dirty you can’t touch your phone, but you can also make snowflakes with paper towels like I did last week when I was in a pinch for an artist date.
Wishing us all the space and capacity to slow down and notice our feelings, even in the smallest of ways. May we embrace the good stuff and the tough stuff and the wholeness of living.
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