Sometimes the world is waiting for us to slow down

I walked the dogs the other day and found myself feeling very impatient.

“Go pee!” (If you’re a dog parent…you already know.)

I not only have one, but two dogs: a lovely but stubborn miniature pinscher and a feisty Yorkie poodle; two very active dogs.

Except when they need outdoor breaks.

Sniff.
Roll.
Play.
Sniff again.
Play some more.

By the 10th pee command, they usually comply, and we head inside.

This particular morning, I was so engrossed in giving commands that I wasn’t in tune with any of my surroundings.

It wasn’t that I had a full schedule or plans. It was that I was fully locked on being busy, staying productive.

Go.
Go.
Go.

Even if it was just making my bed.

At that moment, I felt the urgency to get stuff done.

In the third round with the dogs, I paused.

First, I realized that no matter how many times I said, “Go pee,” it wasn’t moving the needle. Not one bit. Yet here I was, frustrating myself while they continued enjoying their morning stroll.

When I finally paused and began to breathe, it was as if someone turned on the music and the lights.

I suddenly heard the birds who had been singing.

I noticed the squirrels playing up and down the trees, and all the colors on the tiny flowers burst onto the scene. It was as if they were simply waiting patiently for me to acknowledge them.

The cocoon of perpetual busyness can hold us hostage and lock us into routines that quietly disconnect us from the ordinary beauty unfolding around us.

Somewhere between over-commitment, rushed activities, and functional chaos, I had allowed myself to become locked into a space of distraction.

I’d found myself inside a continual cycle of moving from one thing to another, and simple stillness began to feel unfamiliar.

I’d forgotten to look up long enough to see what had been waiting for me all along. Things that bring even the slightest bit of joy.

The neighbors’ pretty white dog that never seems to get dirty. He lies in the sun, quietly watching my dogs zoom around and around in circles.

The red bird that decorates my fence each morning.

The shiny dew on the grass that reflects the sunlight like tiny diamonds.

And the cool breeze that blows the bottom tip of my pajamas and rustles my robe, as if to gain my attention.

Maybe slowing down isn’t always about having more time.

Perhaps it is about reminding ourselves to notice what we are noticing.

The birds had been singing to me all morning.

I simply had forgotten to listen.

— J. Lashelle

If this reflection spoke to you, there is more to explore.