Find Your Off Ramp
Our minds and bodies are not machines. We can’t just turn them off and expect them to stop on a dime. Instead, they’re more like cars on the freeway. They require an off-ramp to come to a gradual stop.
Recently, my family and I began a gap year. Despite the excitement, the anticipation and the preconceived notions of what this year would entail, we still felt as if we “crashed and burned.” I kinda thought that the 24 hour travel time half-way around the world would be enough time to recover, but I’ve since discovered humans don’t work that way.
Perhaps you’re different, but it’s hard for me to slow down! Even when there’s nothing I must do, I feel a sense of urgency, a fluttering sensation that begs me to get up and do something, anything, that feels productive.
It takes time, and effort, and more than a little patience before a new normal is adopted. One that involves more moments of stillness and more awareness. But first, there is discomfort.
Downshifting the speed at which life passes us by is no small feat, and there’s bound to be some friction that comes from slamming on the breaks. We bound to burn a bit of rubber when we try to stop abruptly.
But, if we can endure, and move through the discomfort of slowing down, we open ourselves up to a way of being that is more harmonious with our true nature.
I can see it. I can taste it. I know how it feels. We’re still in the burning rubber phase of our downshift, but I can anticipate what lies ahead, and at its core, it’s freedom.
“It’s not about how much we can fit into a day, but how much day we can revel in.”
There’s liberation in taking things slower, in doing things one step at a time. It’s not about how much we can fit into a day, but how much day we can revel in.
Right now, the trees and mountains are still green-ish and blue-ish smudges. My off ramp is longer than I had anticipated. Still, things around me are slowly taking shape. I can sense that the space to breathe is right around the corner. I just need to turn my attention to the rustling of leaves.
