Dear Sunday: slow

keeping close what's close, an ode to slow, and a list

Nov 25, 2024

This morning I remembered what it felt like to pause — I peeled an orange and ate it slowly, letting its juice linger on my tongue. This is exactly why I love letters, poetry, and calligraphy so much—they are a portal into slow. These acts give us time. Time to think, to feel, to create with care, time to be.

I taught a calligraphy class last weekend on Bainbridge Island and was reminded how much the whole world needs us to slow down, each of us, right now.

"In an age of speed, I began to think, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow. In an age of distraction, nothing can feel more luxurious than paying attention." —Pico Iyer

Slowness isn’t just a luxury; it’s a necessity. And my gosh, I love the intersection of necessity and luxury!

What is most interesting to me about slowing down is how it enriches our time. I think about the handwritten letter, a poem, wrapping a present for someone you adore, choosing an apple at the farmers’ market, taking a dance class, plating a meal for your love, the opportunities are endless. Slowing down is just bringing our attention to what we are doing. We can move our body quickly while being slow. Today on the way home from playing laser tag with a gaggle of nine-year-olds we laughed about how much fun we had, how we weren’t thinking about anything else but playing the game, and how much fun we all had being present. That’s what slowing down offers.

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The average attention span is shrinking and everything feels designed for quick consumption. Perhaps in cities more than in the country, though I feel the effects of fast in my small town. Regardless of our location, slowing down invites us to reconnect with ourselves and the world around us. Slow and deliberate acts are how we find beauty in the ordinary. I’m slowly realizing that my life revolves around this beauty in the ordinary. My god, it’s such a beautiful realization!

The poet W.S. Merwin wrote, “It is not so much that we have time, as that we are time.” If we rush through life, we miss ourselves entirely. Slowing down is a way of coming home—to the present moment, to our bodies, to the people and places we love.

Walnuts (Juglans) and hickories (Carya), Jonas Frei from his book, *Die Walnuss*

This week I’ve been thinking about the delicate act of holding ideas close. Years ago, I shared the beginnings of a book idea with a friend. Before I could explain, she interrupted me, “Wait until the idea has its own heartbeat and can breathe on its own.” I kept that wisdom with me.

Elizabeth Gilbert1 and Rick Rubin2 both speak of ideas as entities—living forces that want to manifest through us. But if shared too early, an idea can lose its vitality, exposed to outside forces before it’s ready to stand in the open.

This morning, I thought about how “keeping close what’s close” is, at its heart, about slowing down. It’s about honoring the pace at which an idea grows and respecting its need for quiet incubation. The writerly life is full of letting these ideas incubate and sharing them when they are fully formed beings.

This past month brought moments of deep joy on my path. A few things I’ve been keeping close are ready to be shared! My poem “Ode to Slow” was published in Third Wednesday, a small victory that aligns perfectly with the heart of this letter. I wrote this poem years ago and I’ve been working on it quietly. I’m delighted it’s found its way into the wider world.

I also received news that my poetry was a finalist for the Patricia Cleary Miller Poetry Prize from New Letters. I’d love to share my poem with you:

And yesterday, November 23rd, was my favorite day of the year—a tradition I’ve cherished since I was six years old. For me, this day is about honoring what brings the deepest joy. I spent the morning with my family at my middle son’s soccer game, followed by a refreshing lunch of a big salad. Later, I visited the sauna, soaking in its warmth and quiet.

In the afternoon, I indulged in creativity: a tapas plate and a poetry session in the mezzanine above the small uptown grocery store near the bookshop in my seaport town. I lingered in the stillness of it all, embracing the slow.

I’m curious if you have a favorite day of the year? It sometimes feels so childlike to have a favorite day of the year, and to still be so enthusiastic about it. But I like that about myself.

Leaving you with some prompts, a list, and a poem idea.

Prompts for Slowing Down

Here are a few ways you can cultivate slowness in your day-to-day life. Pick one that resonates with you:

The One-Thing Walk
- Take a 10-minute walk and focus on noticing just one thing—shadows, textures, or sounds.
Write a Letter
- Handwrite a letter to someone or to yourself. Notice how it feels to slow your thoughts enough to form each word on the page. I notice how, if I’m out of practice, my brain really wants my hand to move faster. Stay with it! It’s so rich for your recipient!
Eat Without Distraction
- Choose one meal to eat without your phone, books, or computer. Just you and the food. Observe its textures, flavors, and muse on how it nourishes you. Tasting each bite, letting your sense of smell ignite excitement, being with the experience it total presence.
The Five-Minute Pause
- Sit quietly for five minutes. No agenda, no to-do list. Just breathe and empty.
The Slow List
- Write down three objects you use everyday. Spend a full minute reflecting on each one.

Okay, I got responses from a few of you that you’d like to be paired with a pen pal. I am going to put this idea out to you again and if you’d like to be paired, I would be delighted to introduce you to someone who also wants to write letters. Reply to this letter and let me know!

Dear Sunday: slow

keeping close what's close, an ode to slow, and a list

Prompts for Slowing Down

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