On the benefits of slowing down.
It is strange that I would ever write those words.
If you had asked me ten years ago about the benefits of slowing my life down I would have probably either a) looked at you as if you had just asked me about the benefit of eating a raw onion (who would EVER do a thing like that…), or b) uttered some comment along the lines of ‘I can sleep when I’m dead’.
If you had asked me five years ago my response would perhaps have been a bit more open. I would perhaps point to the occasional holiday where I had been able to unwind, or a long weekend hiking in the bush which felt strangely energising.
But here I am sharing, from my own first-hand experience, the benefits of not rushing around as much as possible and being as busy as humanly possible… part 1!
A friend offered this perspective recently: perhaps the fact that I am an unlikely advocate of slowing down (not to mention something of a novice), actually makes me a great person to share my experiences and encourage others to do likewise. It’s possible. We’ll find out.
Slowing down my brain
I can tell this is still a new topic for me, because my instant reaction to the phrase ‘slowing down my brain’ is entirely negative. Isn't quick thinking a strength, a positive attribute, something to be proud of? Isn’t being able to generate multiple options to solve problems as they occur a highly desirable trait?
My discovery, heightened in this period of forced slowing down is that yes, there are very real benefits to that quick thinking, strategic thinking, generating multiple options approach. But it is possible to have too much of a good thing.
Quick thinking is great in a crisis. But not when a more complex or measured solution is required. Generating multiple options is great - but at 2.00am in the morning it’s really not helpful (and a good night’s sleep would be infinitely more helpful). Playing through multiple loops of ‘if this then that’ thought processes in my mind can make it really hard to show up and be present when my kids want to hang out and show me their latest artistic creation, or my wife asks me about my day.
For a year or three, I have been experimenting with silence as a way to slow down my racing brain. I remember well how it began. I had taken a few days out to ‘do a retreat.’ (My arduous, tortured journey of figuring out ‘retreats’ will have to wait for another article.)
I was in a shack by myself in view of the Southern Alps in New Zealand. I needed to make some decisions, to work out how to respond to some challenging professional situations. I figured getting away would help me do some good strategic thinking (my general default response to all situations).
As I mentioned previously sitting in a quiet room alone is not something I have spent all that much time doing in my life to date, and this retreat, to be honest, was no exception. “Look”, I reasoned to myself, “The Southern Alps are right there. I have a hire car. Why not go for a drive and think at the same time?”
After about 20 minutes of driving, I thought, “Hmm… surely listening to a podcast while I’m driving would be a good way to use the time.” (Surely I’m not the only person whose thoughts follow this general pattern?)
Anyway, I can’t remember the exact podcast now, but the topic was on personality differences and individual growth and development - favourite topics of mine.
My thoughts turned from whatever it was I wanted to think about while I was driving, and began chewing on the subjects being discussed on the podcast. “Hmmm, that makes sense of that conversation with that person…”
And the mountains looked great. “I wonder what it would be like to live here…”
And the hire car was quicker and newer and quieter than mine. “Hmm, maybe I should buy a car like this one…”
So much for my quiet retreat and space and time to think.
I tuned back in to the podcast that was still playing through the car’s audio system. The conversation topic had turned to the crucial importance of silence and stillness in the growth and development of humans.
Boom.
Caught red-handed. On ‘retreat’ to do some thinking but distracted by a wonderful combination of unexplored beautiful mountains and fascinating information on podcasts, I had managed, once again, to sub-consciously wriggle out of being still, out of sitting quietly in a room alone.
I ended up driving up a long gravel road and finding a beautiful lake surrounded by mountains in the middle of nowhere. I got out of the car, where I left my phone, walked and sat by the side of this lake, in silence, for I have no idea how long…
It felt like hours…
It was probably at least 20 minutes…
And instead of trying to think my way through all the various options and strategies I could think of for the professional challenges I was facing, I sat in silence. I noticed my own heartbeat, my breathing. I stared awestruck at the crystal clear reflection of the mountains in the lake. I listened to the silence, interrupted only by birds singing.
For the first time in a long time, the seemingly unending audio tape of thoughts in my mind wound to a stop.
—
Practising slowing down my thoughts
Since that experience, I have sought to make silence more a part of normal life. I’ve read Hebrew poems, Benedictine monks and modern day productivity consultants and certainly picked up a few useful tips on finding clarity and focus instead of being overloaded with thoughts and possibilities. I have been practising. I have made some real progress.
My current ‘magic formula’ for being still and silent each day is actually pretty non-magical. Here is a rough outline of it:
In the evening:
Turn off my phone and plug it in to charge in the kitchen
Go to bed early
In the morning
Wake up early
Put on ugg boots and very warm sweater
Make a good cup of coffee
Start a timer on my watch for 20 minutes.
Sit in a quiet room alone
Rocket science it isn’t.
It’s been hit and miss at times. Sometimes I’ve read a bit and then sat quietly. Sometimes I’ve listened to a piece of music and then sat quietly. Sometimes I’ve journaled. (Sometimes I’ve scrolled through the news on my phone first - this doesn’t work so well).
I have found myself so grateful to have started practising being silent each day before this new normality of social distancing and working from home was thrust upon us. After the first week or so of adjusting, I found it quite natural to take my practice of silence up a level, and to embrace a rhythm of sitting silently early in the morning each and every day of the week.
The audio tape in my head, the one that stopped playing by that mountain lake in New Zealand, now gets stopped and rewound at least once every day. I am able to think more clearly, without echoes of yesterday’s music squeezing in around the edges. The tape winds back neatly. It doesn’t jam, or get stuck, or spool out and get creased and crinkled. I can even take one tape out now and put it in its case. And put in another tape instead.
Silence.
It takes quite a bit of work.
And quite a bit of practice.
But it is making such a difference.
Who would have thought it?
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