The Quiet Pace of Elders
When I was seven, my grandfather took me walking through the woods behind his house. He walked with a heavy, rhythmic cane, and he never once looked back to see if I was keeping up. I spent the entire afternoon trying to match the length of his stride, frustrated that he didn’t seem to notice the world was moving too slowly. I wanted to run, to climb, to reach the end of the path before the sun dipped behind the trees. It took me years to realize that he wasn’t moving slowly because he was tired; he was moving at the exact speed required to notice the way the light hit the frost on the bark. He was teaching me that there is a specific dignity in not rushing toward the finish line. We spend our youth trying to outrun the day, only to spend our later years trying to stretch it out. What is it that we are finally willing to stop for, once we realize the path is not infinite?
Marianne Vahl has captured this exact grace in her image titled Winter Approach. It reminds me that the most important part of any journey is the quiet rhythm we keep with those we love. Does this stillness make you want to slow your own pace?
