Slow It Down

In his first summer in the Sierra, John Muir was hired to help shepherd a flock of sheep up into the mountains. He mused about the rocks and the trees, the clouds, and the majesty of Yosemite.

 There are many reasons I enjoy reading Muir, but perhaps more than anything else, it is because he serves to remind me of pace. More specifically, to slow...it...down.

 A slower pace allows us to draw focus to the present, to identify certain patterns and habits that are done unconsciously, and to highlight areas of strength or deficit. I believe this applies across all spectra - everything from clinical practice, to yoga, to a walk in the woods.

It can be challenging to be more deliberate in thought and action. There is often an inverse relationship between doing things well and doing them quickly. This does not mean we need to become like the tortoise all of the time (although there is case to be made for why he wins), but rather to practice taking a page out of John Muir’s book once in a while:

"Life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality."

Behold, The Sea

I prefer to consult the ocean in the early morning or at the close of day. Having grown up along the sandy shores of New Jersey, the rumbling of the Atlantic is sometimes more familiar than my own voice. It has been the canvas against which much of my life has been painted. It was the standard against which I measured depth and I challenged Fear.

I have borne witness to its most peaceful stillness and its most apocalyptic rage. It has taught harsh lessons and served as quiet counsel. Emerson has described the sea as “the nourisher of kinds, purger of earth, and medicine of men,” and I am inclined to agree with him.

 The Oregon coast is colder, more rugged, and its shores far greener.  As yet, I’ve had little experience with the Pacific. Beneath the differences, the smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves has the same power to “wash out harms and griefs from memory.”

 In a time where a sense of uncertainty, turmoil, and unbridled hate saturates our news and our discourse, it is more important than ever to come into the peace of wild things.

Let The Gavel Go

One of the first and perhaps most important things I learned in Psychology 101 my freshman year of college was something called the fundamental attribution error. It is an observation that states we are more likely to judge a person on what we perceive to be their character rather than some external factor affecting them in the moment. This is most obvious when we encounter someone who is stressed out and they are showing it.

There is a tendency to jump to the conclusion that this is a mean person instead of considering some basic questions, such as:

 Is this person hungry?
Is this person tired?
Is this person in pain?

I find it helpful to remember that what is often interpreted as meanness or hostility is usually some variation of anxiety. How do you feel when you’re hungry or tired or in pain? How do you act? Is it fair for others to judge who you are based on a temporary low energy state?

At one time or another everyone works through an internal struggle that folks on the outside know nothing about. Before dropping the gavel on someone, just ask: could some major stressor be affecting this person’s ability to mindfully communicate in this moment?