As I bustled out of the gym, hurrying to be on my way to something else, I glanced over at the group of older ladies all chatting and laughing over coffee.


It got me thinking.


Often, when I think about going slower, I think of the elderly. For whatever reason, whether it’s because they physically can’t go fast or whether they’ve learnt to appreciate the benefits of ‘slow’ in a life well lived, there’s a lot to learn from them.


I don’t mean this in a patronising way, but in a genuine sense that we have a lot to learn from those who have gone before us. Many folks who are a generation or two older than me seem, at least on the surface, to appreciate what it means to take time over something, to be with people and to really savour their company while you are with them.


Making bread has taught me to be patient. You can’t hurry it. It needs time for the yeast to penetrate through the batch. Maybe that’s why I’m getting into it at this stage, I need to learn to be slower, to take time allowing things to permeate and marinate with me.


I’ve been deliberately trying to walk more slowly. I’ve been trying to look less hurried when in shops or on the streets and am preparing myself to engage with people who are maybe looking at the same thing I am in a shop or waiting in the same place that I find myself. I’m trying to be available. I’m excited to think of the people I may speak to or the conversations I may have because of these choices.


A phrase popped into my mind as I was chewing this over;




I think the fullness of what this means may become move evident in due course, but in its simplest form, I want to take time over things and people more and make time to do things and be with people.


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