it’s been almost two weeks since the world around me came to a screeching halt. demands from my job have been minimal, social obligations wiped off the plate, to-do lists down to a trickle. so why has it still been so hard for me to take things slow?
at least every other morning, i break my meditation to peek at my watch, as if time really matters right now, as if i have somewhere else to be. i still eat my meals like a rabid duck, hardly taking the time to chew. it’s been 8 years since i’ve identified as a new yorker, but i still walk at the pace of one – even when it’s for my trips around the block to get some air.
it ends up that two weeks isn’t long enough a runway to land a lifetime of moving at jet speed. the uncertainty of this slowdown period feels like a jack-in-the-box, like in any given moment there will be a global announcement that we’re going back to business as usual.
i have it in my mind that i need to get myself to a healthy pace before time is up. i’m even in a rush to slow down.
i continue to hear about what all of this means for capitalism. people “admit” to still buying things. but the flow of money is only the carrot at the end of a very long stick, the gumball that drops out of a machine that’s constantly grinding. for me, capitalism’s symptoms show up not so much in a desire to earn or spend money, but in my unrelenting need to do something, be somewhere, make something of myself – and quick. it’s like life in a drive-thru.
while writing all this, i’ve already gobbled a huge bowl of cereal and glugged down two cups of coffee. but i’m determined to truly, consciously move at a slower and more sustainable speed, starting now. or maybe later.