I take my time in almost every respect. Successive lockdowns have made me realise this is my default setting. Lately, I'm unlearning the tendency to move faster, rushing through life without noticing the small details, the fine print and the stories and secrets around us that reveal themselves when we slow down.
I take my time, consciously and unconsciously. I need time to think, mull, digest, percolate, and ferment ideas and feelings. My mind moves at the speed of knots, though my decision-making is slow, deliberate and intentional. This approach can sometimes be fraught, leading to procrastination, decision fatigue and frustration. This slow existence is not fool-proof, even so, it is infinitely more rewarding for me.
My nervous system and overthinking would have me and many others believe that there is an urgency and rush to get things done. A constellation of cues and biases absorbed from social conditioning, expectations and capitalism place more value on productivity and output than leisure and pleasure, making us believe we need to rush, hustle and grind.
My resistance to rest is always lurking, taking a back seat at times, ever-present but waiting for the perfect opportunity to remind me to DO SOMETHING! There have been times when I was away from work when I felt so defeated in my lack of ‘doing’, I didn't go for a walk, I didn’t write, I didn’t read, learn a language or take up a martial art. Sometimes the drive to be busy is all-consuming. I have often heard people say it takes them days before they can truly relax when they are on holiday by which time they are nearing the end and dreading the resumption of their "normal life". I can relate to this. It seems a sad indictment of these times and the religiosity of hustle culture.
These recent pandemic years brought a time of reflection for many, myself included and with it came an appreciation for a slower pace. My innate tendency is to take it easy, but returning to nature reminded me of this. I have always described myself as a nature lover but a different kind of connection to nature emerged while disconnected from people. It is the kind of connection to nature I have experienced much less often as an adult until recently. As a child, my relationship with nature was so inherent, so essential it never occurred to me that somehow over the years, I became unintentionally distanced from it.
As an introvert, I opt for people in small doses and nature in abundance. Give me a small lapping wave float in or a rockpool to gaze into and I will cease to exist in this human mind and lose hours to the salty brine. Forests are another place to get lost for hours, lost in patterns of lichen-painted rocks, squiggly gums and wildflowers, lost in the woody scents of leaves crushed underfoot, in the sight of brightly coloured fungi and sounds of crickets, birds and bees.
My senses are enhanced and nurtured in nature, nature holds me like a wise grandparent, and I learn to listen to its messages by going slow and, by slowing down with nature, I become more myself. I remember what it is to simply be, to experience the world as a sensual being, lost in time, surrounded by kin.
In my slow wanderings, I have acquired some rudimentary knowledge. Signposts and signals from nature tell me about my surroundings in places urban and wild. There is a swathe of Silver Wattle (Acacia dealbata) on a local bypass, when we drive past we roll down the windows, put our noses to the air and breathe in the sweet honey scent, aromatic bliss. This particular patch blooms in early Spring and tells me warmer weather is on its way. There is another local spot, a walkway close to the beach, where various birds make their homes and feed in the surrounding Coastal Banksia (Banksia integrifolia). A distinctive call of this beautiful bird will alert me to its presence, but if they are quietly lunching, the carpet of banksia flower heads strewn across the ground tells me that a flock of Yellow Tailed Black Cockatoos are in the branches above. Meanwhile, the rugged local coastline tells a story of storms with sandstone boulders picked up and thrown as if by Neptune himself, the quiet cove rearranged by the waves with local humans and non-human beings assessing the displacement, adapting to inevitable change.
Lao Tzu famously said "Nature does not hurry and yet everything gets accomplished” and for me, this has become a mantra of sorts. There is no rush. Life is to be enjoyed, not wished away into the non-existent future or forgotten in a haze of doing. I want to savour pleasurable moments, aware of how I feel, good or bad. I want to feel the rain on my skin, the taste of the first homegrown tomato of summer, to feel sad when things are going array, to deliberate, to choose wilfully, to hug my loved ones, to come to know wild places, wild things and the secrets they keep.
The things on the to-do list will eventually (might eventually) get done, but for now, they can wait.