[1] let's slow down

Author

cooter doodle
February 08, 2023

[1]

Doom scrolling has taken its hold. We consume, but to what end?

When your free time is spent in a haze of constant information, the mundane becomes sorely overlooked. A casualty of wanting more. But if I'm being honest, some of my fondest memories are buried in uninteresting places.

That's why I've started this newsletter. I'm slowing down my pace. No more skipping ahead. I'm going to take my time with the small things that bring me comfort.

So what do ya say? Are you with me? Let's slow down together, twice a month.

🍊[oranges]

My grandfather grew oranges, satsumas, muscadines and this weird apple that I’ve never seen since. I wish I could remember the taste.

He knew the seasons - the best time to harvest. He knew how to splice branches and make his own trees. I wish I had asked more questions.

/

Six years ago my grandfather gifted our family orange trees. “They’ll be here long after I’m gone." But each year when the hard freeze comes, I panic. I worry about the tree, the leaves, the fruit.

It's nothing like a memorial, but it's everything like trying to keep you here.

Maybe if I had listened more I’d know what to do. But for now, we pick oranges.

/

My dad gave my daughter an orange the last time he saw her. I watched as he carefully sliced with his pocket knife. He took his time. His hands rough. Strong. Stained from years of work. I wish I had known it would be their last exchange.

My daughter says she remembers the visit – the orange.

It brings me comfort knowing she has her own memory. I speak of him often, but this story is hers.

If you ask my favorite color the answer always changes, but right now it’s orange.

The Last of Us [hbo]

Since TLOU aired, it has wrapped me up in a warm blanket of terror and peace. I've never been more sad or more hopeful. I've never felt so much joy and so much anguish.

Honestly, I haven't been this emotionally wrecked by imaginary characters since that horror film Disney dropped back in 1987.

Joel and Ellie may be fictional, but their relationship feels tangible on so many levels. Ultimately, their arc embodies what it means to find happiness in vulnerability. We're often so afraid to let our guard down that we forget it's part of the human experience. This entire series highlights the importance of letting people in. An apocalyptic show grounded in humanity. Who would've thought feral fungi would remind me of the necessity of human connection.

Cunk On Earth [netflix]

I've always thought of myself as being 'bad at history'. I assumed that to be a historian was to be great at memorizing dates. That tells you all you need to know about my experience with history teachers. "Here, know the dates of these battles. Test is on Tuesday."

As I've gotten older, I've come to respect the importance of narrative in historical events. The why is more important than the when. It seems painfully obvious now, but I was just trying to pass the test and make it to lunch. But Philomena Cunk speaks my language. She is jarringly refreshing. If my love language is dry-humored one-liners, Cunk is my soul mate. She delivers history in the most delightful way. And it's nothing like my 9th grade teacher who threw a desk in class that one time.

Sometimes we connect with people in the simplest of ways. It's all in the sweet nothings.

Google Maps. Waze. Siri yelling "rerouting!" as I take the wrong exit. I have white knuckled my way through life, always needing to know exactly where I'm going before I get there.

But have you ever considered getting lost? 

Rebecca Solnit has become one of my favorite authors over the last decade. I hope this resonates with you, too.

“Lost really has two disparate meanings. Losing things is about the familiar falling away, getting lost is about the unfamiliar appearing. There are objects and people that disappear from your sight or knowledge or possession; you lose a bracelet, a friend, the key. You still know where you are. Everything is familiar except that there is one item less, one missing element. Or you get lost, in which case the world has become larger than your knowledge of it. Either way, there is a loss of control. Imagine yourself streaming through time shedding gloves, umbrellas, wrenches, books, friends, homes, names. This is what the view looks like if you take a rear-facing seat on the train. Looking forward you constantly acquire moments of arrival, moments of realization, moments of discovery. The wind blows your hair back and you are greeted by what you have never seen before. The material falls away in onrushing experience. It peels off like skin from a molting snake. Of course to forget the past is to lose the sense of loss that is also memory of an absent richness and a set of clues to navigate the present by; the art is not one of forgetting but letting go. And when everything else is gone, you can be rich in loss.”

― Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

It's that simple. Be curious, not judgmental. Until next time.