welcome to The Sunday Slowdown — your weekly invitation to pause and recalibrate for the week ahead with a collection of inspiration and approachable practices to live well, one day at at time.
Nearly 13 years ago while working a shift as a Paramedic, my EMS partner wanted to go between calls and paperwork to look for a kitten to adopt since our station that day was nearby a kill shelter and we miraculously had the time.
She never did get a kitten, but that day I ran into a 10 week old slightly bow-legged dog named Clarence who was the last of a litter of 6 rescued from a ditch, and he’s been my steady companion and anchor in this world ever since.
At the time, I was what many would describe as a very intense person—I regularly worked 50-70 hours per week, was in school for my next degree, on track to go to med school, and my idea of fun was doing 24-48hr endurance events involving land navigation and rucking.
I didn’t really have deep friendships or feel all that comfortable expressing my emotions. I was “one of the guys”. I had no chill, and didn’t know what it meant to relax or live without some greater purpose of productivity, achievement or ego.
When I adopted Clarence, I was fresh out of a rather traumatic breakup feeling a bit unmoored and hadn’t planned to get a dog—but he was just what I needed in more ways than one.
At first glance, he looked like an athletic dog who would grow into my running and hiking partner. An active little dude to match my intense lifestyle.
lol
Little did I know, he would teach me everything I know about relaxing. No “slow living” or nervous system regulation optimization hack on the internet can compare to living with the world’s chillest dog.
Clarence helped me build my current softness and leisure ethic, brick by brick.
From refusing with the most expressive side-eye to go on 5am runs with a headlamp, to teaching me that companionship is meant to go deeper than drinking buddies and surface level connections.
There’s something deeply grounding about changing, growing, crying, moving, dreaming and working your ass off all to be viewed the same by a little being (in Clarence’s case, that usually means a side eye and eyebrow raised).
We’ve grown up together, and during this time he’s shown me that it’s safe to be soft, relax, and trust in the infinite versions of myself that I might become.
(I’m tearing up while writing this, and he’s napping in a sunbeam on the porch which is very on brand)
Sometimes being intense and productive is positive—it might save our lives (or in the case of my past career, someone else’s), help us achieve ambitious goals, or inspire others.
Most of the time, though, in this present-day of immediacy and tiny attention spans—we need to work on our leisure ethic.
The ability to sit still, to ponder, to piddle, and to dream. To be bored and give our dopamine addled brains a moment to breathe. To pick up a hobby with no notion to monetize it or show another soul. To pause long enough to notice and be curious about the next version of ourselves we’re becoming.
If you’re struggling to “fit in” or prioritize self-care or even a few minutes to rest without grabbing your phone or being “productive”, I have some thoughts on what you might explore.
Is your leisure ethic as strong as your work ethic?
Who or what has been your greatest teacher the past 13 years? (think: a mentor, nature, a pet, time itself)
In the coming week, where and how might you do something that isn’t “productive” but fills your soul?
From my notes:
Slowly & surely,
Mb
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