A Slower Pace

When I was a little girl, I had this Pooh Bear washcloth that had “A slower pace” printed on it, surrounded by little butterflies and of course, Pooh himself. I always loved that washcloth. It held a tremendous amount of truth for me.

I never did very well with a ton going on around me. I cried when I had to do things too quickly. Too many hours of preschool was overwhelming. Even physically, I wasn’t the fastest or most active kid. I loved indoor recess, turned everything in late, and preferred sitting down to standing up, pretty much always.

Not much has really changed. I have trouble keeping up with others in my classes or taking tests. It’s not that I’m stupid, no. I consider myself pretty intelligent; it’s just that I don’t well under pressure. My ideal school setting would be a comfortable room with a plush, reclining couch and a stack of work to complete by the end of the day. If I had everything I needed to do in front of me, I could work at my own pace and take breaks when necessary. But that’s not how things work, so I have to learn to quicken my pace without sacrificing accuracy and quality – which seems pretty impossible for me.

This slow-paced lifestyle also causes me problems with follow-through. After a full day of school, I feel completely exhausted. I can’t just start on my work; I need free time. Because it takes me so long to recover from a day of working, I don’t start on my homework for hours into the evening. Thus, I don’t always get everything done. And you can forget about extended involvement in after-school clubs. I was a part of a writing club for a while, but I eventually trickled out because I couldn’t be at school that long.

How am I going to get along in life with this slow-paced living? When the world is a raging river, how can I survive as a raindrop?


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