Well, that's a deep one.
I can say that since I have started slowing down, and examining things closely there has been a subtle change. For me, by changing my lens, slowing down, and noticing small details it has actually caused me to see more beauty.
And I am also happy to report that slowing down, and seeing that beauty in unexpected things has effected my mood.
Baby steps, folks.
There is quite a lot being said nowadays about slowing down or for that matter even being still. And I have to confess I have not only been very curious about this philosophy, but also dabbled a bit.
It took a bit, and I struggled at first. I thought for sure I should be doing something else- like crossing a task off my "To Do" list, etc. But, I fought the urge. Gradually I have built up a few breaks in my day to be still.
Slowing down or being still helps you notice little things. Like the rustle of the trees, and the feeling of the soft breeze on your hair, or maybe against your skin. I like to be still when I hear a crackling in a bush or a tree and often I can sometimes gage the size of the animal by the magnitude of the sound. Often I try to distinguish the bird calls, and delight when I hear one I don't know.
If you slow down to a pace that is right for you, and start paying attention to little things you inevitably see more beauty. Try to take pleasure from what you are doing or not doing. And who knows? Things that you once found very important may even shift?
Living slowly is a stepping stone to good health. Living slow can actually calm breathing, and reduce stress.
The REST is up to you.
See how I did that?
.PNG)
Childhood trauma is funny. It never goes away. That wound shapes you, molds you, and if you're one of the lucky ones -that same wound will eventually scab over.
But it's always there.
I stood in front of my grandparents house last week. I looked down that same sandy sidewalk I ran barefoot on, rode my bike on, and even colored on with my crayons. In fact, I went to bed that night without dinner because of that very unappreciated impromptu art session.
The lawn was full of that same tall, silky grass that I was pretty sure would still feel like velvet between my toes. I bent down to breathe in that familiar smoky scent of the Boxwoods for good measure.
I had an urge to hug that little girl and tell her everything would be okay someday.
Because it finally was.
PHINEAS GOES SCARY
Every year his pug pack went out as a pack of pumpkins. Every year they heard the same thing.
"Aren't those pugs the cutest?"
But Phineas didn't want to be cute. He didn't want to be adorable, either.
Phineas wanted to be scary.
"Phineas! Nope. We have to be pumpkins. That's what we are every year."
Phineas looked at the pile of pumpkin costumes and at his brother. Even his wrinkles wrinkled.
Everyone got their costume on. Phineas took his place in line but his curly tail drooped.
And then he saw the white sheet blowing on the clothes line and had a terrifying idea.
"Trick or treat!" the pack of pugs yapped.
The door opened and revealed a smiling old man.
"Esther! You gotta see this! There is the scariest, most adorable little ghost here."
A woman appeared behind the man. She was moving slowly with a walker.
"Gerald, would you look at this ghost's stout little legs?" She bent down and dropped something in Phineas' bag. Then she scratched his head.
Cute and scary?
He looked down at the two bones in his bag.
Phineas could live with that.
