Slow Down? I've Been Crawling for Five Damn Years.

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I'm getting real tired of hearing people tell me to "slow down."

Slow down?

My life has been moving at a glacier's pace for almost five years.

Five years of appointments.

Five years of waiting rooms.

Five years of scans and bloodwork and "let's wait and see."

Five years of putting things off.

Five years of being too tired, too sore, too busy surviving to actually live.

I've spent years watching everyone else move forward while I learned how to schedule my life around medical appointments, side effects, and recovery. I've learned how to cancel plans. How to sleep sitting up. How to measure my energy like it's a precious resource.

And now, when I finally have a little fire in my belly, when I want to write, create, list vintage stamps at midnight, start projects, dream about the future, and maybe—just maybe—run toward something instead of merely crawling away from disaster—

People tell me to slow down.

No.



Respectfully, fuck that.

I have slowed down.

I've rested.

I've healed.

I've waited.

I've endured.

I've sat still while life happened around me.

I know people mean well. I know they say it because they care. But there comes a point where "slow down" starts sounding an awful lot like "stay small."

And I am done staying small.

I'm done treating joy like it's dangerous.

I'm done acting like ambition is some character flaw.

I'm done apologizing because I still have dreams.

I don't know how much time any of us get. None of us do. That's not pessimism. That's life.

But I know this:

I don't want to spend whatever time I have left sitting quietly in a recliner waiting for permission to live. That's dangerous and encourages rot. 

If I want to write books, let me write books.

If I want to move home, let me move home. Like anyone is stopping me from that. Hell, high water or the creek rising or snowstorms in August won't stop me. I WILL DRIVE THROUGH CALIFORNIA IF I HAVE TO!!!

If I want to spoil my granddaughter, make my spell oils, plant yarrow, throw Halloween parties, and start ridiculous new projects, let me.

And if I finally feel strong enough to run after years of crawling—

For the love of all things holy and unholy—

Don't tell me to slow down.

Open the damn gate.

And let me run.

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