Even the title has a certain timeless feel to it.

I first read about the book World Enough & Time, by Christian McEwan, on Susan J. Tweit’s blog, and I ordered it at once. The subtitle, “On creativity and slowing down,” coupled with Tweit’s review of the book proved irresistible.

Amazon.com’s description says, “According to McEwen, the nonstop emphasis on productivity that is so prevalent in our society is counterproductive for anyone wanting to be creative”—something I wholeheartedly agree with. My default speed is slow. I spent a lot of time alone as a child, and though I was occasionally lonely, I mostly enjoyed the solitude and freedom to do and think as I chose. Spending afternoons in my room, listening to music, daydreaming, writing in my journal or reading formed my personality. As I have grown up and gone from child to parent, from student to worker, I’ve lost nearly all of that unscheduled, dreamy time and I want it back. I hate the speed of 21^st century life, and the common assumption that busy is better and packed schedules equal fulfilling lives. McEwen encourages us to allow ourselves to slow down and pay attention.

This really excellent book deserves a slow and thoughtful read. McEwan has pondered long on her subject matter, and draws on a wide range of sources to flesh out her points, quoting writers, philosophers, artists, musicians, psychologists and others. Some reasons I liked World Enough & Time:

It reinforces something I believe in: slowing down is good for us, not just as a tool for creativity but also a way to heal troubled minds and hearts.

The way the book is written encourages you to slow down—not that it’s difficult to read, but that each page holds so much to digest. Before each new chapter is a title page with a single quote so that there is a sort of pause before you go on to new material. Each chapter ends with a couple of simple suggested activities and more quotes to ponder.

The writing is beautiful, with evocative chapter titles like “The Art of Looking,” “A Feast of Words,” “The Space Between” and “A Day So Happy.”

Here is one of my favorite passages from the book:

“Computer ‘memory’ is literal and predictable; it does not alter over time. Human memory is considerably more fluid. We need time to muse and dream, to mull, to ruminate, to sort through our own insights and associations. In the words of the philosopher William James, ‘The connecting is the thinking.’ Without space for that free-floating receptivity, short-term (or primary) memory is not transformed into the long-term (or secondary) kind. Our memories are not consolidated. We mislay the tiny details of our lived experience, the originality and satisfaction of our own opinions.” In other words, without time to process our lives, we forget them. I’ve often felt like an oddball because of my need for quiet time every day just to sit and think or daydream, letting my mind roam where it wants to go. I feel better about that need, now that I know it’s essential for realizing a fully-lived life.

World Enough & Time is not just a book for “creatives”—artists, writers, musicians, etc. It’s a book for anyone interested in stepping out of the mad rush of the world to live at his or her own pace.  I plan to keep it out where I can reread it more slowly (yes, I quickly read a book on slowing down!) and internalize its ideas.

How do you slow down the pace of life?

I love the images in this poem by Carol Light, of Washington state.

Prairie Sure

Would I miss the way a breeze dimples

the butter-colored curtains on Sunday mornings,

or nights gnashed by cicadas and thunderstorms?

The leaning gossip, the half-alive ripple

of sunflowers, sagging eternities of corn 

and sorghum, September preaching yellow, yellow

in all directions, the windowsills swelling

with Mason jars, the blue sky bluest borne

through tinted glass above the milled grains?

The dust, the heat, distrusted, the screen door

slapping as the slat-backed porch swing sighs,

the hatch of houseflies, the furlongs of freight trains,

and how they sing this routine, so sure, so sure—

the rote grace of every tempered life?

Last night I spent some sweet hours looking through our family photos. All those trips to the park and the beach and the zoo, all those family get-togethers and vacations. (All those regrettable wardrobe choices as well as fluctuating weights and hair lengths…) How nice that only the good times live in our photos and I do not have visual reminders of the blown-out diapers, the sleepless nights, the battles over food and chores and homework (though, clearly, I remember them).

I didn’t find being a mother to be particularly easy or “natural.” The first year of our son Nick’s life was pretty hard on me. I went from working full time in our insurance agency with my husband to staying home full time with an infant who did not sleep well and wouldn’t take a bottle even of breast milk. My in-laws, who lived nearby, worked full time. My mom and stepmom in California also worked full time. We hadn’t been in Florida that long so I didn’t have a circle of friends to rely on for support, advice and commiseration. My closest friend had a three-month-old and lived more than an hour away. Nick was delivered by C-section, and just when I began to recover from that, I began having gall bladder attacks and had to have that organ removed when Nick was four months old. My husband, who was now running the agency without me, spent most of his time at the office and even when he was at home, he was emotionally drained. An organization called FEMALE (Formerly Employed Mothers at the Leading Edge), now known as Mothers & More, came to my rescue with chapter meetings (without kids) playgroups, outings with kids and mom’s night out activities. I met two of my closest friends through this group and we are still friends, all these years later (one of them is the Mary who took me to the winery a couple of weeks ago).

Despite that rough start, we eventually worked our way into being a family. And I have photographic proof that we’ve had a pretty good life. I’d like to share a few of the photos I found last night. The first was taken shortly after Nick was born:

This is one of my all-time favorite photos. I was finally through that horrible, hard first year, and Nick and I had forged a close bond.

This photo captures one of my happiest memories. Nick had been given a child’s camera that took photos with 35mm film. One afternoon, we both took our cameras out on our nature trail to take pictures of what interested us. (Note the manly work boots and the walking stick.) I did have his photos developed, and I wonder if he has any of them still?

You’ve seen many photos of Scout on this blog. Here’s the first one I ever took of her. We always tell people that Scout chose Nick. My husband and I had chosen a puppy other than Scout from the litter, but when we came to take our chosen puppy home, this little black and white puppy would not stop following Nick around. He already liked her best from our first visit, so we changed our minds and took the black and white one home instead. Later, when we were going through photos of our first visit to see the puppies, we found this:

Most of the other puppies are doing their own thing, while Scout is licking Nick’s face.

The adage “The days are long but the years are short” most certainly applies to children. Nick’s gone from blocks and Legos, to Xbox and Facebook. He’s 6’1” and I couldn’t rock him in my arms if I wanted to. We’re looking at colleges and talking about professions instead of checking out preschools. But he’s still my baby, and always will be.

“Only one hour of the normal day is more pleasurable than the hour spent in bed with a book before going to sleep and that is the hour spent in bed with a book after being called in the morning.”

–Rose Macaulay

How lucky are we? Tropical Storm Isaac skirted farther to the west than we expected, and all we got was some rain (and a tornado watch). No school, no trash pickup, and government offices closed today. There could be some flooding of a river near us, but other than flooded roads we’ve been lucky. Again.

We prepared well for this storm—topping off our gas tanks, taking some cash out of the bank, making sure our hurricane food and water supplies were adequate, charging up the electronics and phones. I even went to the library to pick up two books on hold for me (wouldn’t want to run out of reading material, would I? Not that there’s the remotest chance of that). Last night, the worst of the storm looked likely to pass by us, so we didn’t have to bring in all our potted plants and patio furniture. Our preparations took on sort of the opposite of “If you build it, they will come” thinking—more like “If you prepare, the storm will pass you by.”  

Storms come to us all—both the physical and the emotional. With a hurricane or a tropical storm, you usually have plenty of warning. Not so for an earthquake, which I experienced several times growing up in California. There’s not a lot you can do, except try to be prepared for the inevitable. Store up food and water, fill your gas tank, fill your emotional well. And be grateful when all is calm.

A moment ago, I saw the sun peek out for the first time today. It’s gone again, but it reminded me that storms pass. And sometimes they’re not as bad as we expect.

It looks like Isaac will strengthen into a hurricane, and make landfall late Tuesday or early Wednesday somewhere on the Gulf Coast. My thoughts are with the people in the Gulf states—I hope they weather this storm safely. 

How do you prepare for storms—physical or emotional?