June 3 Daily Entry - Slow Magic

I was raised to move fast. Focus on the goal. Get things done. Rely only on yourself. Keep distance between yourself and strangers.

The first time I experienced the magic of going slowly was in Spain, on the Camino de Santiago. (This pilgrimage, by the way, was a pivotal moment in my life, in which I learned that living simply, with the belongings in your pack, a cheap meal, a cold shower, and a rented bunkbed, was not only possible, but could be part of a beautiful rhythm of life. Walking through the fields and under the sun, breaking communal bread, rising early and doing it again, day after day, shows you that life can be simpler--and richer--than you think.)

Before the Camino I would never speak with strangers out in public. I didn't know the purpose of the interaction, but more importantly, I didn't know how long the interaction would take. And my time was precious. I had little of it, and most of it was spoken for.

But on the Camino I had a wealth of time. I had more time than I knew what to do with. All I had to do every day was walk to the next town, claim my bunk, shower, and eat.

On one particular day I arrived at my final destination early. It was siesta, and the albeurges and cafes were not open. Plus, my friend had already reserved our beds, so there was no rush.

I sat on a bench to rest my feet, listen to music, and kill time before checking into the albeurge, and an old man sat next to me.

He began to talk with me, and at first I resisted. I wasn't yet confident in my Spanish, and I tended to fear conversation anyway--especially the awkward lulls where I had nothing left to say, and I would worry about what judgments my conversational partner might make of me.

But this time I felt my body and spirit let all that resistance go. I had nowhere to be. This man was taking nothing from me. And it didn't matter if he judged me or not, because the next day I would be moving to the next town. This was just a single moment for us to share, and it had no consequence.

So I talked with him. He asked me about my Camino, and I told him that my ankles were swollen but otherwise it had been a rich experience. He told me about the town I was in. How the money had dried up. People were leaving for bigger cities and businesses and houses were sitting abandoned. He told me how hard it was for people in that town to make a living, but how much they wanted to stay.

It was a moment of openness and connection that I rarely experienced in my fast-paced, individualistic life. And I thought, "this is good. I need to remember this. I need to have time and space in my life to allow this to happen."

After I returned home, of course, it was difficult to maintain that space in my life. And I found that even when I made that space, the people in my culture didn't want to enter it. They were stressed and rushed and angry. To them I was a thing standing between them and the little rest or relief they would get that night in their bed. And once again they all became Other to me. Every person I encountered a potential attack, a potential obstacle, a potential drain on my resources.

Lately I have been depressed. I'm looking for connection in life and failing to find it. I send texts to my friends and family and get nothing but silence in return. I tell them "I'm hurting. I'm struggling. I'm not doing well. I can't find a reason to live." And they say "me too," but they do not offer love or connection in a way that I can feel.

But today. I left my house, lured to Dunkin' Donuts by the offer of a free donut. I bought the exact donut pictured in the app, and sat to eat it, and an older woman told me how much she liked that donut. She told me she liked it because she was losing her sense of taste with age, but she could taste the strawberry frosting. I told her I got it because the app told me it was Friday and I deserved it, and I thought "yes, that will make me feel better!"

"Have you not been feeling well?" she asked. I told her it had been a long week, and I was feeling down. Then we sat in silence, drinking our coffee.

"I hope you feel better," she said to me when she left, looking me dead in the eye. I felt seen and I briefly wondered if she was an angel or a witch or some other supernatural being. But it didn't matter. In that moment I felt connection.

Later that morning I sat at the park, reading, writing, thinking, and enjoying my lunch. I was thinking about how much I loved the park. How it was an oasis of nature in the city that brought peace and enjoyment to so many people.

A man stopped in front of me and looked directly at me. I waited for him to approach and ask for money, but he did not. He simply looked at me.

I removed my earbuds and laughed. "Hello," I said. "How are you?"

He laughed in return, bowed his head at me, and continued on his way, without speaking a word.

We connected in that moment. Two people seeing each other and saying, "you have value." We wanted nothing from each other at all. We merely shared a moment of presence.

There was a magic there that I would have missed if I had been rushing, achieving, optimizing myself and my time.

Perhaps my life is suboptimal. But in allowing it to be nothing, to be empty and useless, I create space for true connection.

For anyone who might read this, I wish that for you. I hope that there are moments of pure purposelessness in your life where you can sit and watch the world, and be open to what may come. See the value in stillness, in nothing, in strangers and in wasted time. There need not be an end and a meaning to everything in your life. Sometimes beauty happens in spaces between.