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find your pace...

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There is a heartbeat to every place. A rhythm created by who is there, what happens, and how. The land is part of this composition, so is sound, color, shape, and architecture. Every living being and material thing. All influenced by all…

I think this is why some places feel more comfortable than others, more recognizable, or more stressful. The external rhythm plays on our innate rhythm, and we feel compelled to adapt. As a result, we can feel rushed and overwhelmed, or stalled, as if an entire town is moving through molasses. 

The other day I had a random and revealing conversation with a freight delivery guy. We knew one another by name, exchanging niceties on past deliveries, but on this day, we decided to check in with one another, human to human.

Turns out he was an international Frisbee golf player. After living out of his car for a period of time, he finally secured a sponsor. He travelled the world and around the country for many years, until he had an accident that required knee surgery. And that was it. His career ended, and he needed to find a job. He chose Montana, because it was quieter than the busy Pennsylvania town he grew up in, and decided to drive trucks.

On our little cement driveway pad, we must have talked for nearly an hour, sharing stories, PT information, admissions of what happens when your identity changes without your choosing, and how a forced change in tempo alters your awareness.

We both admitted how patient we are now when we’re driving and someone crosses the street. We get it. It’s harder for some than others, and there is not a damn thing you can do about it if your body needs you to slow down and take life one step at a time. 

Our injuries have opened us up to empathy and helped us find our natural pace... 

As the leaves continue to fall here, crunching underfoot, I notice that my inner metronome has changed since my days of living in NYC... I used to pride myself as a fast walker, able to zoom my little self through crowds of people with ease... now, I am quieter, slower in tempo, more graceful in form. I focus less on where I'm going and more on where I am... each day, finding my pace. 

always in motion,

fia

 

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Comments


  • Fia,
    Thank you for your words.We lost our youngest son to an accidental drug overdose suddenly and tragically four years ago. He was 30. He had done a year in rehab and was doing amazing in his new found sober life. Acquired a job in the IT world and was successful, happy and had just had a promotion leading a team of 15 coworkers in his field. He was celebrating…it was cocaine mixed with fentanyl…..
    My molecular structure exploded on hearing he was gone, and my life forever fractured beyond repair…….it’s a long story and the details would help weave some of this together, but there’s not enough time.

    But, This life turn led to my second art studio where I’m learning to draw and paint. I’m teaching myself and take some online classes. I have a mosaic studio and was working on a piece (white lion) when Dylan died……he loved this white lion, as it was a tribute to Cecil the lion in Africa, who was brutally killed by a hunter…all that has stopped, as if frozen in time. The mosaic piece still sits unfinished in the back studio…

    I painted a simple piece in my art journal the other day,….’this type of thing only happens to other people…..welcome to the other people’…..it was a shocking piece to write and draw, but my life now is slower, simpler and as the years tick by more mindful of odder, quieter things and I do notice very odd things in the spirit realm that sometimes surprise me….

    But here’s what I think, I am his Mother and I gave him birth on this earth and now I’m determined to stay in touch with his sprit. That would kinds be a Mom’s right, don’t you think, to know her son in spirit too? He sends lots of pennies, in the oddest quantities, at the strangest places……and being the IT guy he was, he called me one day….his phone number rang up on my phone and it was a young guy who answered, three times……another long story. I suppose I’m still in shock, but I’m choosing to move through the shock and who knows how we connect….me, I’m just takin it slow, simple and oddly steady….

    Maybe one day I’ll finish the lion….it’s all temporary anyway…..

    Elizabeth Whitley on
  • It’s all temporary. 17 yrs ago on Oct. 4th, my father was killed in a drift boat accident on the Rogue River. He was only 71, and I think he would have said he was in the prime of his life. To say his death and the manner of it put our family on tilt, is an understatement. My mother and I’d had a tenuous relationship to that point, and on an unconscious level, I think we knew, it was now or never; we were all each other had. So, gradually we forged a new path. Two yrs later we decided to go to Switzerland, one of my dad’s favorite places, him being an avid outdoorsman and mountain climber! Mom said she wanted to ‘train’ for the trip and asked if I would walk our town’s sawdust trails with her. “Of course!”, I said. Mind you, she was 75 at this point. We trudged along slowly, day by day. At home, alone, I would say to myself, ‘argh!!’. Then I heard this gentle, old voice in my soul say, ‘your mother walked along beside you as you were learning to walk. It’s an honor to get this opportunity!’ We had a splendid trip to Switzerland and have had numerous trips, since. She turned 89 on the 23rd. She’s nearly blind from AMD. She says she’s lived too long. I’m her primary caregiver. It’s an honor I cherish. We’re in the here and now. It’s all temporary. And all the more precious!

    J. Clark on
  • Thank you for your writings and for dancing to the moon on frozen leaves. As I age through “not too cooperative” knees, I do need to remember to keep dancing where I can and counting the many blessings that I have. I love your daily postings.

    Linda Pimlott on
  • Thank you for this! I was a healthy, 33 year old “fast walking New Yorker” myself when I was diagnosed with blood clots in my lungs. For several months, I could only hobble around and even the slowest paces would make me out of breath. At first I felt bad, like I was holding everyone up, but then I came to terms with it and stopped judging myself for needing to go at a slow pace. It’s amazing how when YOU are ok with where you are, suddenly what anyone else thinks isn’t an issue anymore. I’ve realized that all of the areas in my life that I am sensitive to other’s criticisms are areas that I personally judge myself for. It was a lesson worth learning no matter what it took. Now that I can move faster again, I usually don’t. It’s kind of nice not being in a rush to get everywhere…and I no longer get irritated by slower moving people, including myself ;-)

    pickles on
  • Thanks for your words. It’s a bit of a shock and then breaths of recognition at seeing the pace has changed. Especially when it is others pulling you to awareness. I am in the human to human part now, the somewhat awkward verbal acknowledging phase of why the pace is different. I’m pleased to not have to apologize, just explain, to receive understanding and acceptance.

    Sara Adlington on


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