The Decadence of Slower

Balance, Gratitude, Inspiration, Peace 1 Minute

Halfway through another post, or mostly finished, I’m not sure—it’s hard to tell with a poem. The thing lacked detail, the kind of detail that develops from noticing—and time. I slid my laptop out of the way, beneath the couch, and slept. It was Friday night.

Nora

The next morning, I awoke to the incessant meow of Nora and ignored her. I lay in bed, scrolling my phone, and stopped on a post called Slower:

“Before I thought of myself as a writer, I thought of myself as an artist—not incompatible identities. Among the many lessons I learned as a visual artist also applicable to literary arts: slow down. Wait. Wait. Wait. The eye (thought) moves faster than the hand on the page; you have to slow down so that the hand can keep up.”

Jan Priddy, Oregon

My husband fed the cat. I made the coffee. Texas pecan, wildflower honey and cream for me. Back on the couch, I savored my cup, the decadence of the morning, the sunlight spilling through the living room window, the slowness of Saturday. I reread my last draft and started a new one.

Published by Crystal Byers

When I was young, my dad would always say, "Crystal, you can choose your attitude." One day I chose to believe him.

Published

50 thoughts on “The Decadence of Slower”

  8. “Stopping to smell the roses” as a writer. Though hyper by nature, I sense the benefits. The times I’ve let an idea steep in my mind—like a tea bag in hot water—have yielded the most relatable content. I love Steve Martin’s advice for success: “Be so good they can’t ignore you.” It takes considerable reflection and practice to reach that level.

    You always get me thinking about how to be a better storyteller, Crystal.

    Thank you. All the best to you and yours.

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  13. Hi, Crystal! Reassuring to read, above, you still glow. This post in particular confirms this.

    Naturally, we’re unreasonably impatient with ourselves. In common with all thinkers, our minds race to Paragraph 76, while the corresponding actions “languish” still on Paragraph 2. What’s my problem today?

    Not helpful, either, examples of instant wit, instant results, congest our vision. Mozarts are everywhere, it seems, producing unlimited miracles. Why can’t I do this?

    You can, and you do. Remember, the world reveals only its end results, while you’re amidst the process. Apples to apples, end result to end result, that’s where you distinguish yourself, Crystal. You only can do this by being you. Restoring yourself, as you did this weekend, keeps you prodigious, Crystal.

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      1. Many thanks, my friend!

        Carving claims more time than does writing, actually. Maybe you’ve noticed I tend to go on, and on, and on… How rude would it be to use more space than do, even, the thoughts which inspired them? Spotting and clearing all the debris makes for one tired editor.

        As for inspiration, your writing pulses with it, Crystal. Every paragraph, a Technicolor explosion. If I recorded all the rushing torrents, I wouldn’t hit “Post Comment” until sometime Friday.

        If you want to shut me up, post something boring or trite… That’s what I thought. You can’t do it, can you? Dammit, Crystal, you’re way too good at writing/thinking!

        Liked by 1 person

  14. Morning, Crystal. You captured a lazy Saturday morning really well. As I read the essay, I sipped on a cup of coffee, as you did while writing. Many, or most, of us would be lost without coffee! I would be, for sure.

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  19. Thank you for sharing!!.. when I start to make a list of things to do, projects, work/chores the words of Rose Milligan come to mind; 🙂
    Dust if you must, but wouldn’t it be better
    to paint a picture, or write a letter,
    bake a cake, or plant a seed.
    Ponder the difference between want and need.

    Dust if you must, but there is not much time,
    with rivers to swim and mountains to climb!
    Music to hear, and books to read,
    friends to cherish and life to lead.

    Dust if you must, but the world’s out there
    with the sun in your eyes, the wind in your hair,
    a flutter of snow, a shower of rain,
    this day will not come round again.

    Dust if you must, but bear in mind,
    old age will come and it’s not kind.
    And when you go, and go you must,
    you, yourself, will make more dust!
    (Rose Milligan)

    Until we meet again..
    May your day be touched
    by a bit of Irish luck,
    Brightened by a song
    in your heart,
    And warmed by the smiles
    of people you love.
    (Irish Saying)

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