The Slow Life

I’ve recently found that living the slow life is more complicated than I planned for. In the midst of folks living out the fast life, it is seemingly more stressful to slow down than it is to simply keep up. I’m finding out what a master I’ve become of the fast life, and that it’s the slow life I need help with.
With the turning of my tassel came also a new page in life. Obviously. A season I set aside, to look forward at the future, while soaking in the rest of “just being” for a while. I graduated significantly tired and sadly slothful. Overworked. Overloaded. And overlooked. I’ve needed a break. From school. From work. From life. Just for a little bit. To tend to the things I’ve left hanging for a while. To enjoy a cup of coffee on the porch without having to rush off to class. To sit and read a book without the knock of duty at my door. To not shower for a day, sit in old work out clothes, and not have to worry about who I’ll see or how I look walking into the café. However, though I came into this summer, intentionally planning not to work, and with no studies to study, forcing myself to relax, I’m four weeks in and tired of the rest.
A little “stir crazy” if you will. In the company of friends and family going about life at normal, hyper speed, I’m finding my efforts less than impressive and lazy at best. “What did you do today?” “Well, I slept in. Made some tea. Facebooked for a while. Real booked for a little while. Went for a run and then started dinner.” For an outsider it sounds like a rather restful, enjoyable day. And as an insider it was such, up until week two. I was rather fine moseying around the house doing practically nothing. But now guilt has set in and I’m scrounging around for something—anything—to do. This slow pace isn’t good for me. And the efforts to be good at it make it less enjoyable.
Now don’t get me wrong. I like slow. I enjoy waking up to lunch hunger pangs. The noon sun, beating in my window, waking me up is delightful (though often hot). I enjoy a cup of coffee on the swing to start a day with no plans. And I like looking at the clock at 2:30 only to notice I’m still in my PJ’s and have no clean clothes to change into. I can live with those things.
But not every day.
I need something to put my hand to. I’m so used to working toward something. This inactivity is driving me mad! (not literally... at least not yet). But what I am concluding is this... slowing down while everyone else is keeping pace isn’t working out so hot. And while I’m attempting to refresh and restock, I’m slowly becoming guilt’s prey and I think she’s winning.