Things take time

After getting a speeding ticket from The Universe, here's what helped me re-center.

"A Spinal Cord," an illustration from the book   Something More   by Bernadette Cay

"A Spinal Cord," an illustration from the book Something More by Bernadette Cay

I put a lot of pressure on myself to do so much in so little time. Recently, in moving so quickly, I hurt someone close to me. It’s as if I got a speeding ticket from The Universe.

I’m now moving at 0.5x speed. I revisited my priorities and edited down my to-do list. 

Between the remaining items, life has space to breathe, to expand. To take pleasure in doing nothing. To just be.

I remind myself that things take time. And that time *is* the journey.

It takes time to build meaningful relationships. 

I'm excited to share that I'll have my first solo art exhibition in February 2018 at the SFMOMA Artists Gallery. My relationship with the gallery began with a project eight years ago.

It takes time for creative work to incubate. 

I recently took a new project as far as I could. I was disappointed to set it aside, but I remembered how I had let my book rest for months between drafts to lie fallow and deepen.

It takes time to re-center. 

Just when I thought I knew my inner critic inside out, I found that it has evolved along with me. It takes time to listen for these stories, internalize new ones, and to update habits. 

It takes time for bodies and souls to heal and to rest, to integrate and to prepare. Kristin Neff’s book Self-Compassion has helped a lot with this.

It takes time to maintain a healthy support system. I jotted down a quick “Support System Map,” a list of my family, friends, mentors, colleagues, coach, and communities I’m part of. Instantly, I felt less alone. I also identified areas where I can give and receive more support. I started seeing a therapist (amazing!) and I'm doing more Kundalini yoga.

Some things just take time.

These all have to do with “doing.” Sometimes no amount of “doing” will speed things up, the way a baby takes nine months to gestate. Some insights take time to emerge. And that’s totally fine and beautiful.

I remember the five-year-old me, crayons in hand, scribbling joyfully on papers spread across my family’s coffee table. She’s having the time of her life. She’s in no rush.