Quiet. The lake is almost still. I love the lake when it’s still. Why is it so difficult for me to be still? Even slow down?

I love to move. I love to be impressed by “what gets done”. Looking forward to a busy day.

In that schedule is, yes, meditation. It’s on my “doing” calendar. It’s done! Check. Move on…

So, I was ruminating about times in my life when I’ve noticed slow as being admirable. And this very distinct image came to mind. It was Ariella running. It was a BEAUTIFUL moment in time.

Ariella ran on her high school track team. She is not tall. She was not the super speedy. But she ran. She ran regardless.

At this one particular meet, the run was in laps. The competition was fast. I mean fast. As I recall, I think Ariella was recovering from an injury. All the others on their respective teams finished while Ariella still had two laps to go. And I watched her as she ran those two laps. On the field. By herself. At her pace.

I was soooo moved. No winning a ribbon. A tiny audience.

Afterwards, she felt good about it.

That story is not exactly about not moving. But what I saw was the beauty in her rhythm, in her less-than-winning pace. And her attitude about that.

Like a lake with a few ripples. Not so fast. Beautiful.