Slow Living
I’ve noticed lately that so often the things that are best for us are best for the environment, too.
When you compare the process of making your own bread with buying a loaf at the grocery store, it becomes clear. At the grocery store, bread is shipped in from all over the country. It’s pumped full of preservatives to help it survive the journey and the days it spends sitting on the shelf. In the end, it doesn’t really have the taste or the smell of bread that is so lush and evocative.
Baking bread, however, slows you down. It takes time. It takes effort and planning. It has only a few ingredients, and is always best fresh. The smell of baking it will fill your whole house.
Consider walking rather than driving. Driving is quick and convenient, there is no doubt about that. And there are times where it is unavoidable. But choosing to walk, while it takes more time, is great exercise, something our bodies were made to do. It cuts back on greenhouse gas emissions. It takes more time, certainly, but the benefits can far outweigh the costs.
Now — this is not to say you have to start baking all your own bread, or that driving rather than walking is a terrible choice. Of course not.
What it does tell us is that there is harmony between what is good for us and what is good for the earth. And that in many cases, it simply comes down to choosing the slow choice.
Buttered sourdough bread rests in a stoneware dish.
Our world seems to be constantly accelerating. More emails, more meetings, more expectations, more content to consume, more trends to keep up with, more places to go and people to see.
It’s so easy to get caught up in the rush of it all. To lose track of what is truly important to you in the hustle and bustle and stress of ever day life. To let life happen to you, rather than creating a life that fulfills you, that brings you lasting joy.
So how do we do it? How do we get out of this reactive cycle?
We make the slow choices.
If we choose to make bread, we enjoy the feel of creating something. We savor the way our muscles might burn while kneading. We let the aroma fill the house. We cut into the bread when it’s still just warm, spread it with salty butter, and sink our teeth into it.
If we choose to walk, we pay attention to the feel of the breeze on our skin. We watch with wonder the clouds in the sky. We relish the extra time to ourselves, unhurried and unbothered.
We garden. We write. We draw. We sing. We break the cycle of endless scrolling and consumption by choosing to relish in the joys we already have. The joys we create for ourselves.
Much love,
Charlotte
