93. To Be Slow Enough

It’s late afternoon and I’m caught in a great mass of people. Most are on their way home after work, but others are strolling more leisurely, popping into stores along the way or chatting with friends. The first group is in a desperate hurry while the second seems to have all the time in the world.

My focus is on navigating through the mass. I’m swerving around bodies heading in the opposite direction, while dodging the sandwich boards that litter the sidewalk. I’m in no hurry, but it’s still challenging to maintain a slow pace. I feel the distinct urge to go faster when others are rushing past me. Their swift movement feels purposeful, as though it were a response to some unknown stimulus, and I feel compelled to speed up.

I only notice this compulsion after I’ve started to act on it. I’m already walking faster than before. When I notice this, I’m immediately frustrated. Why have my actions automatically conformed to the crowd? This is the first question I pose to myself. But a second query soon surfaces: Why am I judging myself so harshly?

Trying to answer these questions would not be productive. Following this line of thought will only cause my frustration to grow. I’ll become further annoyed with myself for existing as I am, for being automatic in the way that all human beings are sometimes automatic in their actions and judgments. And then my negative feelings could easily extend outwards to the people around me who have done nothing wrong.

To soothe my frustration I turn off onto a side street that is less busy. After only a few steps, I begin to feel more relaxed. My pace has slowed and so has my mind. A degree of clarity returns and I become more sensitive to my surroundings.

I’m passing by a shop — a grocer with fruit and vegetables set out on tables lining the sidewalk. I stop for a moment to look at the produce, to take in the varied colours and the general atmosphere.

As I stand there quietly, I notice my other senses come alive. I’m often too focused on what I can see and as a result I miss out on the other dimensions of experience. But now I allow myself to listen, smell, and feel. I hear one of the employees telling a customer about the grapes they just received this morning. I breathe in the pungent aroma of ripe fruit. I pick up a watermelon just to hold it, to feel its weight and its firmness with my hands.

There is so much happening when I am slow enough to notice it.