I recently wrapped up two days away in Vienna, Illinois (about 2.5 hours from St. Louis) on a brief solo getaway. Here’s a picture of my yurt — I had no idea what a yurt was until now, but I’m pretty sure this was a fancy one!
One of my favorite things to do is to browse the Airbnb app and find cabins, treehouses or (yurts!) not too far from home to check out. I’m often drawn to places near the Shawnee National Forest — there are endless options for state parks and hiking. This time, I found my yurt near Ferne Clyffe State Park, which ended up being perfect for easy-to-navigate, shorter hikes, with a surprising variety of landscapes. Each trail felt completely different from the last.
When I take trips like this, especially the solo ones, I often notice a theme emerges without me even meaning to set one.
For this trip, the theme was moving slowly — perfectly modeled by a turtle I spotted on the trail, who became my unofficial mascot.
The older I get, the more curious I am about slowness. And honestly — do we even have a choice? It feels like the aging process insists on it anyway. It seems wise to start embracing the beauty it offers, even before the physical changes of aging fully set in. Moving slowly feels like it has the potential to add more richness to my days. It helps me feel like I’m actually experiencing my life, not just rushing through it to get to the next thing. It certainly goes against what the mind tries to do — constantly narrating a future to-do list.
To borrow a line from one of my favorite poets, Mark Nepo:
The most meaningful experiences in life unfold very slowly.
Today, I thought I’d share a few places in my life where I’m trying to notice, appreciate, and cultivate more slowness.
1. With Myself
Slowness has been especially helpful when I’m dealing with tough emotions.
One of my go-to tough feelings is social awkwardness — replaying a moment with a group or individual, questioning how I came across.
For those of us who are emotionally intelligent, it’s easy to notice when something’s off. Our brains will quickly slap a label on it: Oh, that’s shame or embarrassment. Then it tries “think its way through it”, distracting ourselves (with a phone scroll, cookie, or even exercise), and move on without truly feeling what wanted to be felt.
Through some of my recent coaching work, I’m learning that true experiencing — and healing — happens not through thinking our way through emotions.
The way through is to feel them.
It’s like I have to chop off the head (aka quiet the mind) and simply notice what’s happening in my body.
What this looks like in real life:
When I notice discomfort or an uncomfortable feeling, I can instantly see how my brain and thoughts get busy trying to sort that out. There is no real effort to stop that, but just be with it, but then, be with body. To slow down and note all the different “flavors” of the feeling.
It’s a tight chest.
It’s an upset stomach.
My shoulders are creeping up toward my ears.
I let my attention hang out in those areas.
I slow down.
This is all done with a gentleness. And what sometimes happens is that while the chatter of the mind don’t leave, it moves to the background while the sensations in my body move to the front.
This work can feel like it’s doing nothing in the moment. But with time, things start to shift. We sense ourselves with more sensitivity and meeting ourselves in these moments – this intimacy – feels right.
2. With My Clients
I’m noticing slowness showing up in my sessions with clients, too.
Sometimes, when I see we only have 45 minutes to tackle what feels like a big issue, my mind starts racing — scrambling to find a fix, a clear path, a resolution. But I’ve learned that when the pace picks up like that, insight often slips away.
That’s when I remind myself: this work is like a ball of yarn.
It’s not about yanking out a solution all at once. It’s about gently tugging on a single thread — staying curious about where it might lead.
I ask more questions.
We slow down.
And I trust the client to lead the way.
Instead of rushing toward fixing, this slower space and openness allow something more helpful to unfold — and what we discover often leads to wiser, co-created next steps.
3. When I Walk
When I make an effort to slow my physical body down — whether it’s moving around the house in the morning looking for a missing sock or walking into my office — I notice my brain tends to slow down, too.
A less busy, narrating mind.
A more calm, settled feeling.
Usually, walking is just a means to an end — getting the kids from school, moving between tasks. But when I walk intentionally slower, everything feels different.
I notice the trees.
Hear the birds.
Feel my body expanding into the space around me.
It’s not just a physical change — it shifts my whole mental state.
On the way out to Vienna, I was rushing like crazy. I hurried to pack, rushed to get out of town, and immediately got stuck in traffic. I felt super annoyed.
But on the way home, after two days of moving slowly, my whole energy felt different. As I left the yurt, I slowly packed my car and said goodbye — to the house, the trees, the lake, the birds — with presence.
Sure, the world rushes us.
There’s always another thing to do. Always.
But I continue to sense the stillness that lives inside all of us — always there — ready for us to tap into, when we open up to it.