Slow With the Flow
By Salomé Gómez-Upegui
I adore slow mornings. On a perfect slow morning, I wake up and pour a fresh cup of coffee amidst the silence inundating the apartment. I sit cross-legged on the couch, staring out the window, and letting out a deep sigh. I feel peace, all is well in my world.
For a while, I allow myself to do nothing. It’s a lavish gift I love to start the day with; doing nothing. I breathe in, I breathe out, I close my eyes, I open them. I feel the sun on my face as it peeks through the mountains. On a perfect slow morning, I daydream inside this bubble of nothingness.
Soon enough, the bubble bursts. The name of the needle that does the trick is anxiety. Poof. Back to reality.
Reality is often a place where doing nothing triggers a tornado of guilt. The tornado goes round and round in my stomach as it suggests I should be doing something. I move from just being to just doing, and the storm seems to settle down. I do. I do. I do. I rush. I rush. I rush. I can’t feel the storm anymore. I’ve picked up the pace, I’m too busy hustling, winning the race I’ve signed myself up for.
I don’t need to tell you that we live in a world that seems to be spinning faster and faster each day, but I will. I will address the obvious, and refer to what you already know because I believe this glorification of velocity to…
