walking slowly

I think the most transformative years of my adult life have been over the past two years. I was sure of who I was, but I was in a box that I blame on society and peers, yet ultimately, I put myself in. I don’t like change, but funny enough, I love living spontaneously. I know routine works best for me, but I resent it. The fear of routine, for me, equated to a life of pattern and dullness: work, home, cooking, cleaning, picking up kids from school, dinner out once a week, and so on. I think this is rooted in growing up in the suburbs. I’m always torn between what I think I want and what I THINK I think I want.

Over the past year, especially, I’ve been trying to unpack why I do the things I do. Is it out of habit? Deep-rooted trauma? Laziness? The realization wasn’t exactly a surprise, because ultimately, I do things—and don’t do things—out of anxiety, fear, and panic. I’ve recently had to teach myself how to be alone, to sit at a cafe without company. How to go a day without sending 100 Snapchats to friends because I can’t unpack my thoughts alone and need realignment and validation. How I always need chunky headphones on when I’m out so I don’t look approachable and can block out noise. How I thought ‘normal’ things, like the gym, weren’t for me because I never considered them out of my own free will and constantly relied on others to tell me what I enjoy and who I am. I’m not athletic, so I never considered myself athletic. How to—and why I need to—remove myself from bad situations and leave bad friends behind, even if there are years and trauma bonds attached to it. How it’s not awkward to ask questions or speak up for myself, even asking for a receipt or where an item is in the grocery store. Little things and big things.

Recently, I was walking through the city, trying to enjoy my matcha and podcast. I was walking fast, building up an unnecessary sweat and wondering what I was going to do next since my feet led me ahead of schedule. I told myself to walk slower. So, I did. Much to my surprise, the world didn’t end. I didn’t look insane. In fact, no one was looking at me. As I walked comfortably and calmly, I felt a wave of happiness and contentment. I really did. I’ve been in such a rush for as long as I can remember, worrying too much and stressing too much. At the age of 26, I’ve only now been able to reflect on myself. I never even stood in the bathroom long enough to evaluate my face, noticing how many freckles I have and where new ones have appeared. Speaking of bathrooms, I truely think I have the bladder of a pregnant woman because I think I’ve ruined my bladder after holding in my pee for too long. As a kid—and shamelessly, as an adult—I hated removing myself from the fun or the room to go to the bathroom for fear I would miss out. If I left the classroom, maybe the girls who noticed me would forget about me. How awkward would it be to try to make my way back into the conversation? At work events, I even found myself avoiding the bathroom because, even asking where it was, I already felt like an imposter in the room. Until now, when I eat with my parents, my mum will say, “Slow down, Nawal,” because I eat like the food is going to grow legs and run away. I’ve always been fast, but clearly slow to realise why.

I’ve started to consciously walk slowly. I find the bathroom. I ask for a receipt. Have you ever wondered if you do the same?

My late-blooming discoveries are that when you walk slowly, you notice things more—beautiful things. People are kinder and more inclined to smile at you. You can observe shop fronts that you would have previously missed, rushing past in an attempt not to stop, only to go home and retrace your steps to find what seemed interesting. The smells, the advertisements and even the new infrastructure.

This isn’t to say I won’t walk fast again. I will, because I’m also chronically late, and a loser in that sense. But I’m trying to say that, at whatever point you’re at, slow down. Wait a second, breathe out, and think. Don’t let your anxiety, or your brain, or bad habits control your feet, your hands, or your eyes. Ideally, I wouldn’t want it to control anything at all, but we make do. Evaluate yourself. Reflect.

Sometimes it’s scary to look at yourself, to slow down and unpack it all, but I wish someone had told me that it’s the healthiest and most efficient way to grow. Sometime in your 20s, you’ll hit a dead end; you’ll feel lost and confused (more than you already are). And if you’ve taken the time to sit and reflect on who you are and the things you struggle with or excel at, it makes it a little easier. Or at least, I think it does, personally. You don’t need to latch onto what someone said you were or are. You don’t need to continue habits you’ve had since childhood just because you never took the time to reflect on them. You can adjust and change. Blossom and grow. Walk slowly, or whatever your equivalent is. Also, take a moment to use the bathroom and be kind to your bladder.