I have long felt as if each day holds a particular gift, something out of the ordinary and surprising if I’m alert enough to recognize it. A few days ago, it was the first egret of the season, one lone white exclamation in a small swampy pond beside the roadway. Recently it was something I learned in Tai Chi practice that was a complete and unwelcome revelation. Always before I have thought that the more proficient you became at this endeavor, the quicker your movements. This seemed to be born out by the fact that my body felt less burdened by a more rapid pace and there were fewer interruptions in the transition from one position to the next. When a fellow practitioner told me that as you advance in this ancient discipline, the slower your movements should become, I didn’t want to hear it. Slowing down would challenge my balance; slowing down would disturb the supple gesturing I’d learned over time and become accustomed to; slowing down might prove to be painful for joints that seem to possess more strength when in swift continuous motion. I wasn’t about to accept this new notion without a great deal of thought.
It was in fact days before I realized that my gift from that particular day was the very idea that I’d resisted and that I have now come to see it as a metaphor for how to continue to lead a creative life as we age. Seen in this light, slowing down need not be a liability. It may indeed yield a more satisfying process and encourage a mature and deeper perspective on the work we do. It may foster the mindfulness we need to bring us to that state of flow that’s the goal and sanctuary of those who practice tai chi as well as any art form. Slowing down may indeed be a blessing.
The Train to Calais