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On living slowly (in theory at least!)

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It’s funny, I can feel myself growing up – growing older.

It feels like slowing down.

I used to revel in late nights, not minding the tiredness of the next day: watching lecture notes swim before my eyes, cycling back  to wake myself up again, have a second breakfast, do a little work, take lunch, and then decide whether to ‘get down to work’ or  ‘to go and get some air’.

Or the tiredness would rebound into a crazy hyperactivity where I would say “Screw life!” and blast out Jewish folk music, paint my face with war-stripes and manically dance around the kitchen – with or without company.

But now here I sit in the top-floor prep room of a school, with a view of the North London rooftops, gazing vacantly at the small figures standing at the station half a mile away, walking up and down.  A train comes, waits and leaves, and when it is gone, all the people are gone too, as if swept away.  I stare at the computer, but my eyes are tired and heavy from last night, and thoughts are throbbing and bashing around the inside of my brain, needing space to settle and flow out in a quiet and ordered way.  I work better when I am not tired – I know that – and when I have stayed in the night before so yesterday has been fully processed and I am ready for a new day.  Then I love my work.  I love the children.  I am privileged to work with them.

The slow life does not feel ‘busy and important’.  It doesn’t feel ‘cool and glamorous’ and it leaves people thinking I’m weird for not taking advantage of my youth, zapping and partying like I should be aged 25.

But I think that this is the life I find satisfying; where I can grip on to God to slow this conveyor belt down; where my worth may not be visible to others but is secure in God and in me; where God can grow in me, slowly.

Slowly.  Rhythmically.

There’s no hurry.

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