It is January. It is a dark month, full of weather delays and changing plans. The faster you try to go, the more the universe seems to say, “Sit down. We will wash out the highway if we have to. Oh, you made a temporary fix for that? Then we will coat the entire highway in a layer of ice.”
There is no escaping it. It is time to slow down.
In 2019, my concussion taught me to slow down. It was not a gentle lesson. It was harsh, brutal and unyielding. I had no choice but to learn it. And I am realizing now that I am constantly in danger of unlearning it.
Life demands a frantic pace, it seems. The world told me I could do anything: career, family, artistic pursuits, a rich social life, volunteer work, community connection. All of it could be done. All of it should be done. It was not just desirable, it was optimal. Anything less was falling short.
And I had it easy. I had it good. I was not fighting for my survival, but I was acting like it. I felt like it.
So the concussion happened, and I stopped. I was lucky that I could. I healed and rebuilt, edging toward the energy and productivity I thought I needed. Always looking for balance. Paying more attention to my body. Trying to be kind to myself and to others, and only taking on what really mattered.
In that, I found an unnerving peace. I was not rushing anymore. I was not balancing four spinning teacups while riding a unicycle. Life felt good, real and doable.
Slowly, I sped up. Then I burned out.
How was I back here again? I thought I had learned my lesson.
I acknowledged the unprecedented demand of responding to COVID, the particulars of the job, lingering concussion symptoms, and the complexities of my relationship. They were all factors, but I was still the engine. I had apparently sped up while telling myself I was keeping it slow.
So I stopped again. Again, I was lucky that I could.
I healed and rebuilt, this time better than before, this time far more aligned with how I want to work, what I want to focus on, and how I want to live. The changes cascaded all around me. Everything changed. The more simplifying and decluttering I did, the more the extraneous noise fell away. The more the rushing stopped.
I was still balancing teacups, but only the ones I wanted to balance, my very favourite ones.
I stood on my own, feeling proud of myself for clearing my space, both physical and mental. I tried to let back in only the most interesting things, sculptures in my metaphorical courtyard that invite, soothe, challenge and tease all at once.
But in the corner of my mental space lurked a presence I had only been mildly aware of: perimenopause.
She is a shadowy presence, but also your strange best friend. While I felt like I was finally finding my footing, she rolled a million little hormonal balls into the room. Not enough to make it fun, like a ballroom. Just enough to make you think you still have a place to stand safely.
You do. Except for the moments when you step back and go flying.
Women go through a monthly cycle from early adolescence to late middle age. While each month is a cycle, each lifetime is its own.
It is the spiral of understanding. A lesson learned over and over again.
Each time we rotate through the spiral, we move through tension and balance into a deeper understanding. This next level of the spiral is different than before, though always remarkably the same. The rules change, yet the goals and lessons often remain constant.
My monthly cycle has gone for a walk, just as I was getting to fully understand its messages. I have to tune in even deeper to stay balanced, to stay on pace with my energy, to not be rushed.
Life and its “shoulds” constantly encourage me to hurry up and take on more.
Perimenopause is, thankfully, having none of it.
How are you doing with the quiet of January? What thoughts, voices, dreams, feelings and influences are coming out of the corners now that there is finally space? What are they trying to tell you?
Are you ready to slow down and really hear them?
And then what?
I invite you, dear reader, to take this time to clear out the clutter. Set your intentions. Focus your attention. Do not invite in fancy New Year’s resolutions if you do not have space for them. Only accept the ones you know you are ready to enjoy.
