My illness has taught me to enjoy the slowness, to luxuriate in the space that slow brings.
Life so often is fast, and we get pulled into the thought that fast = good. Fast means we’re working harder, doing more and ultimately being better humans.
But does fast really mean that? Or is it just the opposite, does fast actually mean we’re missing out, by packing more and more in we’re missing the beauty, the moments of utter magic, the chance to take it in, the chance to feel alive.
How often I used to get to the end of the day and I’d done so much I felt I’d been productive but I couldn’t remember half of what I’d done, I’d done it with so much speed that I’d not been present.
I know that when I slow things down on my mat it becomes harder, stronger, deeper and ultimately I can’t be anywhere else but here in the moment, breathing moving and feeling.
Through this I’ve learnt that to slow life down, to spend time doing something and only put a few things on my to do list rather than 100 I can fully appreciate each moment, then I feel alive, then I feel I’ve lived.