Last fall I read a book called In Praise of Slowness by Carl Honore. Reading the book caused me to reflect upon the speed of my life, my daily choices and actions, and how they were impacting family life, my emotions and the work I do. And so as 2008 dawned, the theme of slowness became an important intention for the new year. In January I attended a retreat where I was to spend a lot of time in silent reflection. Although my experience of this retreat was outwardly quiet, I found myself inwardly rambunctious! I had brought no notebook along (unusual for me) and found myself scrawling notes onto every possible open space of the handouts we’d received. I came out of that retreat with a strong sense of guidance – that I should write, and not at some distant point in my retired future, but today. Isn’t it wonderful how opportunity shows up at our door at the perfect time? Less than a week later I was contacted by a former colleague, asking me to collaborate on a writing project. It all began with attentiveness to the guidance and flow of my life, and then openness to opportunity. Had I not slowed myself intentionally – I would have missed the direction pointing toward where my next steps were to be taken.

January for me often seems to hold tremendous energy. Perhaps it is the newness of the year, the resolutions and intentions that carry such a powerful force. As January ended, my enthusiasm waned. And old habits creeped back in. Most notably, my old pattern of anxiety returned. Noticing the quickening pace through the spring – I was craving slowness again and feeling exhausted from the busy-ness that my life was returning to.

And so planning for the summer ensued – the summer of 2008 was to be a slow summer. Picture this, kids at home, morning walks with them and the dog, leisurely lunches, time for me to write as they enjoyed reading, blowing bubbles, watching an occasional movie…. Now, anyone with children knows what a fantasy-world I was living in! It did not play that way. Yet, as with all challenges, this one carried (and carries still – it’s only July!) many insights and calls to change. My kids (ages 4 and 10) have no intention of lazing about – but prefer (of course) to involve me in their play, as they should. And I have been able to see how difficult this is for me. I love my ‘little chickens’ – and I love the work that I do. My work, I found, was revived by the space I had given it – and I’ve experienced a boon of creative energy which I not felt before. But the kids were taking a back seat.

At the same time, the writing project had unearthed some very deep-seated fears. Anxious (again) about the ‘success’ of the project, I procrastinated like a teenage version of myself – but I was writing….. journaling every morning, drafting text for my website, exploring blog topics. I was painfully plodding through my writing project.

Enter slowness. This summer I am allowing space. When I feel anxiety – I am feeling it, not burying it. I am sharing it with the friends and family who support me unconditionally. I give myself opportunities to nurture my inner-most needs. And one of these needs shows up as reading. Anyone who knows me in any capacity has heard me mention the work of Julia Cameron, author of The Artist’s Way and The Right to Write. Julia’s work is a lifeline for me. In these past weeks I found new insight into how I use procrastination, anxiety, and the resulting adrenalin as a crutch to get me through difficult times (like high-school term-papers, passing college exams, meeting business deadlines). I am practicing the art of ‘begin where you are’ which means to sit and write, period. No matter that I don’t have the first sentence complete in my mind or any idea of the direction it will take. I have discovered by following Julia’s guidance, that what happens when I ‘just do it’ (Nike must have known this) is magical. When I relinquish control of the outcome, but keep the daily practice of returning to the page (and forgoing self-criticism), ideas flourish and what comes through my fingers is better than I could have planned for.

It is the end of July. My daughter is thrilled with the art camp she attends for three hours every afternoon. The kids and I have made time for some mini-adventures during our mornings. We’ve cancelled outings that did not allow for this space. And I am no longer plodding through my writing project – but am rediscovering the fun of it. Slow is not always slow – but slow allowed space to see what I was missing – I was missing the joy of writing.