On Slowness
— Slow is “in.” And for good reasons —
These days, the term slow suffers a number of negative connotations. Industrialism, globalization, and high-tech, high-speed information systems have made “slow” virtually interchangeable with “unproductive,” “costly,” “out-of-date,” “useless,” “lazy,” “stupid,” “ineffectual,” or just plain “broken.”
But in recent years, the go-go-go modern lifestyle of fast food, fast connections, fast talk, fast cars, and fast money has inspired a swing of the cultural pendulum back toward the cultivation of more mindful habits in personal lives. We’re beginning to realize the costs of so much fastness — the damage it can do to our bodies, our minds, our spirits.
Wait a minute, we’re saying. We’re human beings. Our work is important and so is our time, certainly, but what is that time really worth if spent at a blurring pace in hopes of packing every minute with profit or accomplishment? Is that any way to live? — letting time drain away so you hardly notice it? No, we all require balance, rest, and peace of mind if we’re going to continue to be healthy, happy, and yes, productive citizens.
So we find certain cultural initiatives such as the Slow Food Movement emerging to new prominence. We see people stepping back to say, “The Internet is terrific and all, but we need to learn to unplug and take walk in the park, or sit down to talk face-to-face with a friend!”
Slowness, it turns out, is a fundamental aspect of a meaningful human life. Doesn’t the age-old impulse toward religion show us what an essential human impulse slowness is? Practicing meditation, attending Mass, or praying in the mosque or temple we gain perspective, we slow down, we breathe and return to the moment at hand. And it’s not only religion that does the trick. We walk in the woods, we ponder a work of art, we explore history, we write a poem or read one.
Speaking of poetry, here’s one on the subject of slowness which I particularly like. Whenever I read “The Waking” by Theodore Roethke, I can practically feel the coils of my brain unwinding, the hammering of the clock growing fainter. Slowness sets in and
everything around me seems to get a little bit clearer.
Do yourself a favor and read the following stanzas slowly. This isn’t the morning paper. Give each line your thought, rather than expecting the line’s thought to be given to you. If you’re able to, read the lines aloud. Each one deserves a breath — or two — of its own.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I feel my fate in what I cannot fear.
I learn by going where I have to go.We think by feeling. What is there to know?
I hear my being dance from ear to ear.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.Of those so close beside me, which are you?
God bless the Ground! I shall walk softly there,
And learn by going where I have to go.Light takes the Tree; but who can tell us how?
The lowly worm climbs up a winding stair;
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.Great Nature has another thing to do
To you and me; so take the lively air,
And, lovely, learn by going where to go.This shaking keeps me steady. I should know.
What falls away is always. And is near.
I wake to sleep, and take my waking slow.
I learn by going where I have to go.
(Theodore Roethke; 1953)
Carl Honore is the author of the book, In Praise of Slowness (2004). He’s got a lot of wonderful things to say about the value of slowing down and paying more attention. An online video captures his 20-minute talk at the annual TED conference back in 2005. (TED, which stands for “Technology, Entertainment, Design,” is a fascinating event geared around “inspired talks by the world’s greatest thinkers and doers.” The TED website, which features many videos of these talks, is well worth exploring.)
Let’s allow Mr. Honore to conclude this Soul Shelter post. Follow the link and give him a listen.
(This post comes to you from the Soul Shelter archives.)
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