Monday Meditation: the pace of being human
Arriving on Tuesday
Dear Becoming Ones:
I am writing from the train somewhere between Verona and Venice, making my way across northern Italy for the day before returning to Verona with the Nexus group and continue our tethering until later this week. The Monday Meditation is arriving on Tuesday, which feels fitting somehow. It, too, is moving at the pace it needs to move.
For the past several days, I have been wandering through Verona—from the hills that overlook the city to the narrow streets below. I have walked without much agenda, letting my feet lead and my attention follow. As I have strolled through piazzas and alleyways, lingered over coffee, and watched people gather in public squares, one question has remained with me:
What does it mean to live at a human pace?
Pace is on my mind.
We inhabit a world organized around acceleration. The demands arrive faster than we can answer them. The news cycles turn before we can absorb what has happened. Our devices call for our attention. Our bodies carry exhaustion. Our spirits struggle to find a place to rest.
And so, in a world where everything seems to be speeding up, I am still learning how to slow down.
What about you?
Can we slow down long enough to feel what needs to be felt?
Can we pause long enough to notice what we have been carrying?
Can we imagine a slower way of becoming?
The philosopher Jenny Odell reminds us that attention is one of the most precious resources we possess. To reclaim our attention is not simply a personal act of wellness; it is a refusal to surrender ourselves entirely to systems that profit from our distraction, our productivity, and our exhaustion.
Perhaps slowing down is not withdrawal.
Perhaps it is resistance.
Perhaps contemplation is not escape from the world but a different way of inhabiting it.
I think about this often as I move through cities and share meals with strangers while researching belonging and freedom. What I continue to discover is that people are tired. Deeply tired. Tired in their bodies. Tired in their imaginations. Tired in their hopes for another possible world.
The pace of racialized capitalism asks us to move faster, produce more, consume more, and feel less. Yet our bodies know another rhythm. The tides know another rhythm. The seasons know another rhythm. The breath itself arrives slowly, one inhalation and one exhalation at a time.
Maybe the invitation this week is not to accomplish more.
Maybe the invitation is simply to become present.
To become present to our bodies.
To become present to our grief.
To become present to our joy.
To become present to one another.
The world will continue rushing. The empire will continue demanding urgency. The algorithms will continue asking for our attention.
But perhaps another possible world begins when we refuse acceleration long enough to listen.
Long enough to notice.
Long enough to love.
Poco a poco.
Paso a paso.
One breath at a time.
Peace,
RCE+🪷