Slow Flow

Every once in a while you get a day like yesterday. Sunday, a day that appeared to have unlimited hours, minutes that crawled by. A day that seemed to last and last.

I used to always love Sundays. As a teenager, when homework and chores were done, when you could lie down on your bed and listen to the same song over and over.

But as time passed, Sunday was used for cooking and preparing for the week ahead. Making lists, getting the family organized, scrubbing floors and folding laundry.

I used to live on the eight floor of a building that faced south. I could see the mountains and the sky as it slowly brightened. Then watched as the shadows grew longer. And as night approached, each twinkling star in the inky blackness of forever. I could hear the traffic far below and ignore what I didn't want to pay attention to. It could be beautiful and peaceful. I was the audience.

Slow Flow

Yesterday, I was able to capture that feeling. The snow had fallen all night, it was that miserable cold that you couldn't help but stand by a window and be glad that you were indoors. You could wear socks on your feet all day. And then change back into pajamas. All sounds were muffled.

In Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience, this feeling is described as being in that moment when time has no meaning. It is surprising to me, a typically busy kind of person, how I felt.

I checked off more than a few things on my list, put my name on a waitlist for Ed Sheeran's cd, finished my survey for the Tomorrow project, and thought about things.

I remembered Sasha, my old dog stretching and yawning as she moved to each patch of sunshine on the living room carpet as the day wore on. That was all she wanted. All she did some days.

At one point, I was surprised as I glanced at the clock and saw that it was only noon. Smile. That same glorious feeling when you startle awake and realize that you've only been sleeping for one hour. And that six a.m. is still hours away.

Yesterday, each moment seemed to pass so slowly. What was happening? And yet I got so much done.

Even as night descended, I rejoiced that there were still hours yet.

Time. No Time. Slow Flow. I got it.

Each twinkling star in the inky blackness of forever. Stay in the Flow. (Tweet This)

What is Slow Flow to you? Be the Audience. (Tweet This)