Radically Quiet and Defiantly Slow

What I learned when I didn't get the rest I intended

Last week, I went in search of information to explain the destructive fires in LA. Although I do my best to protect my precious attention from unwise people with powerfully insecure egos, I did catch that Trump seems to think there’s some valve in Northern California that could have fixed the whole disaster. I knew that didn’t sound quite right, but I didn’t know why. It isn’t right, by the way, but that’s not what this is about.

While searching, I learned of something called hydroclimate whiplash - rapid swings between extremely wet and dangerously dry seasons that increase due to global warming. It’s happening globally. Intense wet seasons promote abundant rapid growth of vegetation which then turns into abundant fuel for a small fire to quickly turn into an uncontrollably destructive one.

At the same time as the fires on the opposite side of the country, I also experienced delight in a soft and slow snowfall that froze everything peacefully in place for a little while here in Atlanta. Those of us lucky enough to be safe from the fire of actual hydroclimate whiplash may still be experiencing some whiplash of our own in the extreme contrasts of our times. The wonder and anxiety, the to-do’s and the what-ifs, the small delights and big despair: all of it true and often all at the same time.

The Farrier. Aert van der Neer. 1650s. https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/437190

The Temptation of Certainty

It’s no wonder we crave rest. These swings between extremes keep us scrambling for higher ground, searching for that mythical place where everything finally makes sense, where we can make a sound plan, and be the kind of person who is on top of things.

But a race like that just might trip you up. At worst, down paths of denial and oversimplified solutions, like a theory about a non-existent valve that will release all the water southern California needs from some indeterminate spot in the “north.” At best, into the exhausting pursuit of having all the answers, pulled in so many directions that we lose our center point where wisdom about our best next steps forward naturally emerges.

Recently I encountered Keats' concept of an artist’s "negative capability:” the capacity to remain in uncertainty and mystery rather than frantically reaching for easy answers. Perhaps these whiplash times are also nudging us to become artists of our own lives. To create something in the chaos of uncertainty as acts of faith in the goodness of our spirits: putting some seeds in the ground for spring, making a meal, having a meaningful conversation. These aren't just distractions from uncertainty – they're hopeful experiments in the chemistry of possibility, where our innocent desire for connection, delight, and meaning can transform despair into love.

Disrupted Intentions for Rest

This wasn't the month of rest I intended. I learned more about rest's nature through my disturbed attempts to reach it than I actually experienced it. I'm not stepping into February with a renewed, energetic spirit ready for ambitious, clear goals. But I've gathered some valuable wisdom about the rest we'll all continue to need:

Rest is not laziness, it's wisdom

Rest is not exhaustion, it's intuition

Rest is not giving up, it's patience

Rest is not the darkness of confusion, it’s faith in curiosity

Defiantly Taking Our Time

In a moment of overwhelm last week, when the world felt too loud and wrong and I couldn't find an exact target for my frustration or the perfect words to conquer it, my spirit whispered something unexpected: be radically quiet and defiantly slow.

I don't even know what that means yet, but I sure do like the sound of it. Rather than rushing to define it, I'm sitting with these questions that might help us all find our way to wisdom amid the whiplash:

• How much information do I really need to care for what’s mine to tend?

• What would it look like to be informed through authentic connection rather than digital noise?

• Beyond information, what keeps me connected, wise, and resilient?

• When I feel the urge to voice an opinion: Why now? What for? What else?

• Which actions felt meaningful today?

• Whose expectations are behind this push to do and be more?

A slow burn is infinitely more satisfying than a hot take. So let's take our time, friends – for rest, for curiosity, for joyful, loving connection and creativity.

What’s Next?

As I close this month of exploring rest, please know I’m not ending the essential practice of it. Next month, I am following the call to focus on the topic of enchantment. Why? For two perfectly sufficient reasons:

1. I love this topic

2. I think we all need it

What comes to mind when you think of the word enchantment? I’d love to see your thoughts in the comments.

With love,

Tricia

P.S. I just learned this morning from Elise Loehnen that the etymology of the word “resolution” means “release.” Interesting, right?