Slow looks like stairs with unfinished treads lined with BlueTape for six months.
It looks like smooth ceiling crazily butting up to popcorn ceiling in the 10 foot opening between the kitchen and the dining area.
It looks like a laundry room with its insulation showing.
It looks like a bathroom with a stained yellow tub, half peeling wall paper and no storage.
Slow looks like rotting wood on the office porch. And a hot water heater in the yard.
Slow means sitting and noticing where our house is in relation to the pond.
It means relaxing and watching a movie in the midst of the undone.
It means delicious salmon on the grill even though the kitchen isn’t ‘finished’. Do you know we’ve had dozens of wonderful meals in a kitchen that isn’t technically, perfectly finished?!
It means taking joy in the little wins, like finally taking an hour to paint that hallway.
It means allowing myself to be okay with all the stuff that is halfway, or untouched ugly or at the bottom of the list.
Slow is a choice. You choose to be okay with the imperfection now because you trust things will change in the future. Choosing slow isn’t giving up or backing down, it’s usually not being lazy, maybe intentionally slowing down is an act of hope, rest and trust.
My house and life aren’t perfect. They never have been and they never will be, it’s more obvious now than ever. I get to choose what I do with that. I can drive myself insane frantically trying to hide and fix the imperfections. Or I can take my time and enjoy the processes.