If you've somehow stumbled across this page, you've found things that I've written, to be included in a blog, that never quite made it. If this webpage was a film studio, this would be the cutting room floor. Most of what's here doesn't have much value, but I've kept it because I think that maybe there's a diamond hidden somewhere in the rough (as they say.) Some of this may reappear in a post further on down the stream, like water being pooled in an eddy before being released back into the main river flow. Some of it may sit here forever, like water perpetually recycled in a hole. But, I leave it here because it matters. The way all water that enters a stream affects the river, each of these writings has affected me. As I shaped it, they shaped me. If you've found this, I hope you enjoy! 

 

Open Paddle and Going Slow

Sunday mornings, we offer an Open Paddle. It started as a way to encourage people who wanted to try paddling but were a bit hesitant. While it still serves that purpose, it also ends up becoming a group of regular people who look forward to getting on the water every Sunday morning of the summer. It's only forty-five minutes, and we don't really go anywhere. 

During one Open Paddle, I talked to Donna, one of our regular paddles. We were talking about the idea of slowing down, both in paddling and in life. We told me about this guy named Slomo out in San Diego that she had heard about. Slomo rollerblades, in slow motion, up and down the boardwalk almost everyday. By going in slow motion, he enjoys a freedom of movement. In a seeming contradiction, going slow allows him to more closely experience the feeling of acceleration. There are no rules to his movements; he follows his heart and "does what he wants". He can go fast when he wants, but is under no pressure to do

When Donna first told me about Slomo, I pictured a young, fit skater who practiced the slow motion skating as an art form. After researching, it turns out before he was Slomo, he was a successful doctor firmly in the "race" of life. He lived in a mansion, drove a Ferrari, and had hit all of the benchmarks by which we consider someone "successful". He gave it up because he realized it wasn't fulfilling him spiritually.