It was just a short Sunday evening walk.
I had no grand designs for it – only a small reprieve and a small thank you to my head, neck, and shoulders for a week at the computer.
I went downstairs, opened the thick wood door, walked into the early night with no direction or destination. Which means I go slower than usual.
Slow past the windowbox petunias that looked like old phonograph cylinders. And the woman with muscly arms full of groceries and diapers. And the couple that was so beautiful under the lamplight I almost told them.
It’s on walks like these that I think about how Gandhi said there was more to life than increasing its speed.
And I thought that this might be that more. Or part of it, at least. That the reward for slowness is getting to not glance at the world, but to see the world. Which almost always leaves me in a little more awe of it.
I finished my walk. Opened the thick wood door, headed upstairs. It had only been a short Sunday evening walk. But my head, neck, shoulders felt looser and lighter. Like they had been cared for.
So maybe that old Lily Tomlin line was true, I thought as I reached the top of the stairs.
For fast-acting relief, try slowing down.