Slow Your Breath Down
On finding your own rhythm
Years (and years) ago I made a rookie mistake right at the start of a 10-mile race. Gathering at the start line, surrounded by a cloud of other runners, I was a mess of nerves—excitement, anxiety, anticipation—I was vibrating with energy. I had told myself before the race that I had one goal—not to finish last, but there was another fear underneath that—the fear of being left behind. As the minutes ticked down to the start of the race, that energy made it hard to remember my training. Lost in my anxieties about being able to keep up, when they sounded the horn, I took off from the start line too quickly and struggled to find the breathing rhythm that I’d spent months of my training, learning. If I didn’t slow down and catch my breath, I wasn’t going to be able to finish one mile—never mind 10.
I watched as people came from behind me, parted around me, and disappeared into the distance. It felt like mere seconds before I was running along totally alone. With every footfall, I knew that my struggle was less physical and more mental. I had let me fear take the lead, and when I’d given it an inch, it nearly sidelined me right from the start.
As I stared off into the empty trail ahead of me, in what can only be described as a holy moment, the next song that played in my ears was Future of Forestry’s, Slow Your breath Down. I remember feeling distinctly as if God was speaking directly to me through the lyrics in those panicky moments.
…For you were once a child of innocence
And I see you just the same
Your burdens couldn’t win or lose a thing
Oh I’d tell you once again
But you’re always on the run
Slow your breath down, just take it slow
Find your heart now, whoa…
Sometimes, slowing down is how you overcome.
We spent New Year’s eve at home, just the six of us, with our heavy hors d’ouvres for dinner and our champagne chilling in the fridge. We managed to stay up to see the big ball drop in NYC, and then promptly went to bed the way people in their mid-forties do. The kids stayed up until who-knows-when and I was happy to know they were together, here under one roof for a little bit longer. The reality that it won’t be long before we will have a lot of empty rooms in this house has settled heavy around me. I spent all of 2023 framing nearly everything around this impending reality: the days of us all together under one roof are shortening quickly. I don’t want to race through them.
There’s this cultural temptation to begin any New Year like a racer at the start line. Ready….set…GO! But as the year has rolled over 2024, I find myself craving the slow rhythm of intentionality. Of prayerful consideration. Of remembering that “things take the time they take”1 and to “trust in the slow work of God.”2
I keep hearing the refrain, “slow your breath down, just take it slow” in my head, and I’m letting those words be both a directive and a comfort. Years ago, when training for that race, I learned how every runner has to find their breathing rhythm, and what works for one runner may not be what works for another, but whatever your rhythm, your ability to run well, and long, hinges on the practice of this rhythm.
The heaviness of the last handful of years has blurred time for me in ways I don’t know how to untangle. After operating in “survival mode” for so long, I feel like I am only now beginning to decompress, to open, to breathe slower again. I’m setting some personal intentions for this year, making a few goals (read more, less social media, more broccoli, more walks, make a little art every day, etc.) but I am not holding myself to a rigid timeline for doing some of these things. I’m not trying to accomplish goals so much as establish new rhythms. And that takes time. It takes practice. It take intention.
I know that if I shoot out of the gate too quickly, I will lose my way. I will forget what my intentions and hopes are for the fear of not keeping up with—I don’t know—anyone? Everyone? But rhythms aren’t about conquering.
No. No Thank you.
Rhythms feel like they have a longevity that accomplishing a goal lacks. Training all those years ago for that race still teaches me things all these years later. I don’t run physical races anymore, but I am in the great marathon of life, and knowing that I don’t know where my journey ends inspires me to practice healthy rhythms for the long haul—in case I am given that opportunity. I want to finish well at every opportunity.
For the last I-don’t-know-how-many-years I’ve chosen3 a word for the year. This year, my word is, New (as well as its derivatives, renew and anew. ) This is more than a New Year. This is distinctly a new season for me spiritually, personally, and professionally. This word finds me curious and expectant (hopeful, too!), which seem like pretty good postures coming into a New Year.
“Do not remember the past events; pay no attention to things of old.
Look, I am about to do something new; even now it is coming. Do you not see it?
Indeed, I will make a way in the wilderness, rivers in the desert.
Wild animals —jackals and ostriches — will honor me, because I provide water in the wilderness, and rivers in the desert, to give drink to my chosen people.”
Isaiah 43: 18-20
How are you entering this New Year? What word or phrases or questions are you carrying with you into this season?
Speaking of New…one of my rhythms for this year includes making a little art every day. I am going to be sharing more about that in my next newsletter so if you’re in need of a little creative inspiration, keep your eye out for that. I hope to have that in your inboxes next week.4
Here’s a sneak peek to whet your appetite:
Oliver, M. (2018). Felicity. CORSAIR.
https://www.ignatianspirituality.com/prayer-of-theilhard-de-chardin/
Sometimes it’s felt much more as if the word has been chosen for me, if you know what I mean.
This is “retreat season” for me and my every waking “free hour” is devoted to refine {the retreat} preparations for our March retreat. If I don’t make my self-imposed deadline, you’ll know why.
The word on my heart as I head into this new year is patience.
I love your art 🥰