For many years I told myself the story that I am someone who thrives with a busy schedule. I’d be overjoyed when others also saw this quality in me, all while continually resisting the deep rest I feared I needed. I prided myself on my ability to do hard things, including running ultramarathons. I was able to find quiet and solace amongst the trees, whilst running and hiking for hours on end. It was a time where the volume of the outside world was turned down and I was left alone with my thoughts. I’ve never enjoyed listening to music while running as I used it as a time to work through whatever was troubling me. When I was on the trails alone, I was able to peel back a layer of my anxiety and confront the struggles that were doing repeated laps in my mind.
But something beautiful happened when I was abruptly forced to stop running after my mountain biking accident. For many months I wasn’t able to even hike the trails I once ran. I yearned for being amongst the misty ferns and evergreens that have often held me during difficult times. Instead of running ultras, or planning other grand adventures, I was forced to shift my perspective. I continually returned to the same question: who am I when I let go of the stories I tell myself, when I let go of others' expectations of me?
After many months of taking it slow and having to rely on others to get me from one place to another, it's only in the past few weeks that I am able to finally drive myself to these wild places that I once frequented. In many ways these places feel the same, but I find myself exploring them with a new curiosity.
As I walk slowly along the paths I once countlessly ran, I find myself embracing the slow living practices that were thrust upon me for the past six months. This way of living has always called to me, but it was only recently I fully grasped what it truly meant to live in it.
I move intentionally along the path and open up my senses to the surrounding environment. Rather than running towards a solution in my mind, I simply listen. I listen with all my senses and find myself immersed in a world I was too busy to notice before. I hear the squirrels scampering from one branch to another, and the soft methodical babble of a nearby creek. I see the tiny mushrooms growing on the moss covered tree and taste the fresh air as it fills my lungs. I smell the thriving pine trees and touch the plush moss growing along the forest floor.
Through this deep listening, it feels as if I am being held by the forest itself, all while my busy mind comes to a peaceful halt. Instead of using this time to tune out my surroundings, I find that the earth is opening itself up in order to embrace my inner self, my soul. Rather than viewing ourselves as something separate from the natural world, the more I slow down, the more I embrace the realization that we are one. Time in nature can act as a reminder that the path to healing mustn't always be fast-paced, for when we rush we can so easily miss out on the beauty of the present moment. Sometimes, in order to get where our path may lead, all we have to do is listen to the present moment and notice the beauty that can come from slowing down.
The more I reflect upon this lesson, I find my curiosity pondering how to integrate this teaching into my daily life. Many individuals have jobs, schedules, and commitments that may make the thought of slowing down seem laughable or nearly impossible. I would argue that slowing down does not mean one must always physically move slowly through this life. To me slowing down is a daily practice, one that will look different for each individual. Some may choose to schedule intentional time to forest bath, while others may practice a few deep breaths before entering a difficult situation or conversation. Slowing down does not require one to adopt a certain vibe or aesthetic. Instead, it is a continual reminder to notice the small beauties of life and to listen to the world that surrounds us and lies within us.
As my body continues to heal, my capacity for physical activity begins to expand. As I ease back into movement, I believe that I will most likely still run ultramarathons in the future. When exactly will that happen? Only time will tell. As my physical ability to move returns, I find peace in knowing that the physical speed with which I move through the world does not dictate my ability to find the beauty and wisdom that comes to us when we slow down. Perhaps I’ll take more breaks on runs to just sit and listen, or maybe I’ll challenge myself to tune into the surrounding nature even when I’m out on a run. I hope that slowing down offers you the peaceful fullness that it has given me during this time.
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With love,
Marie
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