The Luxury of Slowness

The fine, feminine art of savoring the intimacy of now.

Lately, I’ve felt a bit worn down.Not just physically tired, but that soul-deep kind of tired.The kind that comes from constantly bracing. Constantly doing. Constantly trying to stay ahead of life.

You know the feeling?

Where your mind is always busy- voraciously consuming,scanning for more. More information. More things that need to be fixed. More preparation for the unknown.

Our minds want us to believe that if we just know enough. That if we read the right thing, pack in more knowledge, stay prepared for every twist and turn, then we’ll be safe.

The brain likes its job of keeping us safe, but it can take it way too far. And it’s exhausting.

My brain wakes up with me,clamoring to be the first voice I hear, strategizing and solving before my feet even touch the ground. And it stays with me into the night, resisting rest, reluctant to surrender to sleep.

The pace of our minds can create very, very subtle tension-a quiet pressure beneath everything we do. As if what we need is always just out of reach,and we must strive to get it.

I’ve even noticed that something as simple as reaching for my coffee cup can feel ever so slightly rushed- more like an effort to get something done than a desire to savor its taste.

It’s that old voice warning me: “You don’t have enough. You’re not doing enough. You need to move faster and try harder.”

It is so subtle, so ingrained, that I hardly notice it. Until I did.

If you’re nodding, if you’ve been feeling this too,know you’re in good company.

This morning, I remembered something my mind would prefer I not pay attention to.

Instead of handing it the reins,I chose my body.

I moved slowly. Intentionally. Easily and sensually.

I reached for my coffee with presence. I let my body luxuriate in space.I noticed the feeling of the cool spoon in my hand, the warmth of the mug against my skin, the way the scent of coffee swirled up to greet me.

I stepped barefoot onto my patio, wrapped in the hush of summer dawn, my eyes delighted by the color of my flower pots, and let the cool air kiss my skin.

And all I did was feel.

Nothing about my morning scene was new. My routine was the same. But everything felt different.

Because I chose savoring over speeding.Because I chose intimacy-intimacy with the moment.Intimacy with myself in the moment.

And in that slowness, in that savoring, I felt something I hadn’t even been trying to feel.

A feeling that was the opposite of bracing.The opposite of striving:

Gratitude.

It was a loving, peaceful knowing:

I already am. I already have. I am already held. Always.

This shift is the beginning of creating something beautiful. When creation becomes a kind of communion.A savoring. And art, life and love flows and aligns not from pressure,but from pleasure.

When I enter my studio with that same slow, sensual presence in my body-not to produce, but to connect, not to perform, but to feel- something opens. That’s when the art that’s most true arrives-the work I love most, because it came from love.

And not just art, but everything.A day. A project. A relationship.

I want this for you, too, in all the ways that you live and create.In the way you touch the world. In the way you allow yourself to be touched back.

For your life energy to be less about bracing and protecting against what you don’t want, and more about creating, with love and trust, what you do want.

Because luxury, I’ve realized, is not something we earn.It’s not a future reward.It’s what’s already here when we create the space within to receive it.

And in that slow breath, in that holy hush, you find yourself feeling alive again.Resourced.Safe.Sensual.Delicious.

And you, too, will remember that you don’t have to chase what’s already yours.