Finding solace in simplicity

Reflections on slowing down

Out of a busy mind was born a busy mind.

She’s six and one of the most beautiful things that have ever happened to me; only her mind is so much like mine, perhaps to an even stronger degree—always thinking, worrying, analyzing, asking deep questions. Sensitive. A few days ago, out of nowhere, she burst into tears, distraught over the fact that animals are killed so we can eat them. She hasn’t eaten a bite of meat since then, and I fall more deeply in love with her tender heart while helping her understand what to do with all of her feelings. Her supposed toughness—which can come out through rudeness—is a mask for the soft flower beds of her heart. In the evenings, she’s chasing butterflies and feeding her pet snail, Cherry, who now lives in a small tank on our kitchen counter, or asking me not to kill the spider or even the wasp who has entered our house uninvited. She’s a lover.

Tonight, as her mind wandered and wandered, out the window and down the street, through the dense forest and up the hill, I wondered what else I could do to calm her busy and anxious mind. I began with a butterfly (my hand) fluttering onto her head, kissing her and sprinkling love dust all over her, making its way down her face, across her cheeks, down her neck and spine, the butterfly wings eventually wrapping around her body in a big, cozy hug. We repeated this, over and over and over again. An hour passed before I told her to take my butterfly and keep it safe for me. I left with her hands fluttering in the air.

I’ve tried many things myself. Yoga. Meditation. Anti-depressants. Exercise. Being in nature. Journaling. Meeting up with a friend. Some things have worked. Some things haven’t. What calms my anxious mind the most is holding my children. Allowing time to slow as I count the freckles on their bodies while they fall asleep to the setting sun.

And then there’s my son, two, who runs to me yelling “meeeeess you mommeeee” and then squishes his face into mine, back and forth, cheeks pressed and stretched and squished some more. I know one day I won’t be able to be this close to him, so I soak up all his baby kisses while bracing myself for when he’ll lean back and then throw his body on top of mine once more. The other day I thought he broke my nose after his forehead collided into me. “Soh-wweee mommeeee soh-wweeee,” as I winced in pain, a pain I still feel weeks later whenever I wash my face or blow my nose. His world revolves around trucks and “dray-gons” and dinosaurs on repeat. I admire his ability to lose himself to exploration, and I remind myself to never lose my curiosity.

Us, on a quiet Sunday.

I really fought living here for the first year or so. I didn’t want to move back to Williams Lake. It was hard not to feel like a failure, like everything I had once escaped now wrapped itself back around me, threatening to drown me once more. Upon returning, though, I’ve realized I know how to swim. Slowly, we’ve been making peace with our situation, realizing that for now, being here is good. The lakes are much calmer than the ocean, and our souls can float gently on the surface, healing our family in a way only here could really do. We’ve been forced to slow down, to let go of the things that made us up and even brought us joy, and simply be. To let our anxious minds wander through the fields until they found a safe spot to lie down. We found rest, and we found comfort, and only now do I feel we’re beginning to be curious again. To dream again. To realize our troubled minds have found solace in the quiet moments, in the unexpected beauty of a place we once resisted, where deer roam through our yard and find shade from our home. We fix a blanket on the grass, and the four of us lie down and point at the moon. Home is us tangled up together, rolling down grassy fields, giggles shooting out into the night sky like falling stars. It’s in these moments that the simplicity of life has allowed us to heal and grow, thicker than the dandelions my children pick and blow into the sky, our minds blowing freer than the seeds caressed by the wind.