All in Slow Living
It’s the open air markets that I love. The way that you don't even have to know the way to the Borough Market in London for the aromas carried by the wind will guide you right to its core. Cross this street, go through this alleyway, down those stairs. Right to the heart of the action.
I’m deliberately resisting counting down the days until we visit Sweden later this summer, a country I’ve longed to visit for far more reasons than its beautiful and strikingly simplistic Scandinavian design or their minimalistic fashion sense.
While I earnestly try to incorporate those two concepts into my home and closet, it is their culture and sense of community that truly draws me in. It is their center. It is their core. And it is what I want in my life.
Walk, Don’t Run.
The three words that drove me berserk as a child. I didn’t want to walk into the pool, I wanted a full sprint in order to propel my cannonball jump even further. And I couldn’t believe the audacity of the grey-haired teacher with mix-matched clothes that effectively halted my hallway hurry to recess, at least until I could slip around the corner out of sight.
I kept the same full-tilt pace into adulthood. But this time I wrongly misjudged it. I couldn’t see where I was jumping and the hallways seemed to go on forever. I always felt like I was running, finishing one thing and immediately on to the next. A head-down sprint, with one foot blurring in front of the other - but I never looked up to see where it was that I was actually going.
It was time to reset. With no real agenda to hold us accountable.
The strangest of weather unfolded as we made our way for the west coast. The morning, holding to true Irish flair, began with rain. But I later awoke to crystalized tree tops and the hills tucked in with a light blanket of snow – something that struck me as unusual for Ireland. Upon reaching Dingle, the only town on the Dingle Peninsula, the sun began to break apart the stubborn clouds. But stubbornness usually has its way of prevailing, and the clouds unleashed a cold, hailing rain. To avoid the icy harassment, and keeping with Irish style, we dipped into the nearest pub.
It takes approximately six hours to fly from New York to Ireland.
But seven days sounded more appealing.
Few societies move as quickly as Americans do. We have allowed ourselves to be bogged down by technology. Faster always somehow translates to better. Yet we are physically tired. Emotionally tired. Sleepy eyes staring at screens.
But there’s an interesting shift that has begun and continues to manifest within our communities. Many are seeking more alternative routes - turning towards yoga, meditation, and mindfulness in order to decompress and reduce the risk of burnout.