The Fine Art of Living Slowly

(Or: Yeah, Me Neither.)

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You know that moment when you wake up in the morning, stretch your arms, and leap out of bed brimming with energy?
Yeah, me neither.

Instead, I prefer to rise like the dawn itself — quietly, cautiously, one limb at a time. Sometimes it takes a little convincing to leave the warm embrace of my blanket. Sometimes I forget what exactly I was planning to do after I stood up. (Perhaps it was to make tea? Or meditate? Or was I already meditating by mistake?)

This is life with ME/CFS — a masterclass in pacing, patience, and the occasional perfectly timed nap.

Taking a shower has become my favorite form of exercise. Walking into a room and forgetting why I’m there? My daily mindfulness practice. My hamster Bodhi, all six ounces of contemplative fur, is the perfect companion for this stage of life — quiet, observant, and a great believer in the restorative power of stillness.

There was a time when I felt like a senior citizen trapped in a young body. Now, as an actual senior citizen, I’ve finally grown into my true age — and it feels like coming home. Society has caught up to my speed. I can take my time, sip my tea slowly, and nobody expects me to run marathons (or remember where I put my keys).

And in this slower rhythm, something beautiful has unfolded. Humor, that old healer, keeps my spirit light. Compassion reminds me that life isn’t a race — it’s a gentle unfolding. When I stop measuring myself by what I can do and begin to cherish the quiet art of being, even fatigue becomes a kind of teacher.

So here’s to the fine art of living slowly — to all who rise at their own pace, who love without hurry, who move through the day with soft laughter and a steaming mug of something kind.

May we find joy in our stillness, wisdom in our limits, and peace in knowing that slow can also be sacred.

🌿 May we walk gently enough that even our yawns become prayers of gratitude. ❤️

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