Slow moving is not something synonymous with my normal state of being. I tend to move at a pretty good clip, weaving in and out of other slower pedestrians, rushing to the next thing on my ever mounting list of to-dos.
So much is missed in the rush of things. I am sure I will be surprised at how quickly death arrived when I reach it, regardless of whether it is tomorrow or 50 years from now. And my break neck speed is not helping. It is the journey we are supposed to savor, not just the destination. A mantra.
Now, having just completed my stint on crutches, a good six week endeavor, I am required to walk slowly. My knee will not allow what the rest of me would like to do. Annoying? Yep! But, it has also given me time to enjoy the falling of dusk on my walk home from the train. I have a chance to actually enjoy the birds chirping as night falls upon the neighborhood. I get my daily update on a two story full gut-rehab along my path home- watching the beginning demolition through the installation of new windows. Each day something new. In my normal “bat out of hell” rush to and from the train I would miss all of these changes. Instead of noticing the changes as they occur, I would be surprised at the completed project.
Oddly enough, I am enjoying the slowness- watching the ants journeying to their destinations- on their own missions. I have met neighbors I have never spoken to, let alone seen. Taking time to notice the wild nature that grows so well within its urban habitat, I smile at its ingenuity. Watching my transitioning neighborhood lurch slowly forward, with new shops filling abandoned spaces, I am again excited at the reinventing of the old. New lights illuminating the anonymity of the darkness.
I stroll passed, sharing in the smells of another’s dinner hanging on the evening breeze- it warms me and reminds me that life exists behind the closed doors - each weaving their own stories and histories, which remain secret to outsiders. Maybe I am sharing in their secrets, just a little.