"A person walking in the city moves through a series of images. The act of looking itself, of naming what one sees, is a form of creation."
Teju Cole
The pull toward autopilot is strong. I get it. The ease of existing in the slipstream — till noise becomes weather, and speed turns into faith. Letting it carry us into blindness, into full-body numbness. I get it. But there’s another way to move through a day. Slower. Softer. And no matter what anyone tells you — this way of being is not extra. It’s not some luxury for people with spare hours. You are not wasting time. You are making time. Dragging it back from the blur, reclaiming it, holding it to the light. It’s yours. This is its own kind of alchemy. Clocking the real. Everyday. Lowkey. Full of scraps and gold.
I nearly deleted this, thinking I didn't have time. But the memory of how you made me feel last time, drew me into your thoughts again. And there it was again! That lightness of being in the call to reconsider what was a waste of time. What a gift you have.
This practice of moving slowly, moving softly, of noticing more is truly the thing keeping me sane in this increasingly maddening world. I’m endlessly grateful for your art, words, and friendship. 💙