It felt kismet when, a couple of weeks ago, my colleague Amanda posted one of my favorite pieces by the poet Nayyirah Waheed on Instagram: “I want to live so densely,” it reads. “Lush / and slow / in the next few years / that a year becomes ten years / and the past becomes only a page / in the book of my life.”
It appeared on my feed on a day when I was reflecting on my year and this very sentiment: that after months—years, even—of constant movement, I want nothing from 2019 except to allow myself to land. To breathe. To live a little more slowly.
In the realm of resolutions that ask us to tone up our bodies and gain spontaneous financial security, the idea of simply allowing myself to simply “be” seems almost too easy, if not a bit abstract. But for someone who has learned to thrive in times of transition—who has always abided by the doctrine of “Thank u, next”—the thought of intentionally slowing down has already facilitated the kind of antsy feeling usually reserved for my delinquent meditation practice.