Speed is a dimension.

I wanted to write an article. Let something out again, let go, share something. Hardly anything on this earth makes me understand life better than the damn clacking of the keys on my computer. In my head, I have a list of rough thoughts I’d like to share. Either because I don’t understand them myself or because I think I have understood something exceptionally well. Usually, I then have some intuitive plan of expressing what, I need to get clear about in order to convey. And as if that’s not tricky enough, This time I don’t have a plan.

That’s because everything on my list feels like something I don’t understand and would like an answer to. Everything feels like a bit of urgency, and honestly, what in our hearts doesn’t have urgency?

I find it hard to say things like “my heart just got bigger” or “I feel fulfilled” at all. I find it hard to share my emotions. Yet I feel so much and so deeply that it sometimes hurts how little I can convey, despite all my writing and speaking skills.

Until recently, I always thought I was a fast person.

I think fast, have new ideas quickly, can react promptly to jokes and changes, and my pace is also reasonably brisk. I have made the most daring decisions in my life in milliseconds when I am otherwise indecisive. I honestly never regretted any of my quick decisions, though.

I concluded that my life and everything in it have to be fast without considering that life happens in different dimensions, without thinking that my life is knotted with others’.

I have often made wrong assumptions in my life, especially about people. But with no belief could I have been worse than with the one that my heart feels as fast as I make decisions or crack jokes.

My heart beats in a dimension to which I have only recently found access, and in this place, the world is decelerated and often very still. I have found explanations for my clumsiness in dealing with emotions in this place.

Time is like a labyrinth,

and each person has their own tool to navigate through this maze. A big part of my life is here, here at the keyboard. I have cursed countless times that it is writing, of all things, that lets me grasp what I dared not express in the past. The past. It can be ten years, but sometimes it’s just ten days, ten hours, or even just ten minutes. Either way, writing alone allows me a glimpse behind the curtain behind which everything is slowly coming together.

Slow. It’s the opposite of fast and the opposite of what I thought I was.

Behind the curtain, it is sometimes so quiet that up in my head, I don’t even notice what is happening, and from there, I make one of my too fast decisions. But later, when I have time again, and only the sound of my keys fills the room, I see what has been happening inside me all this time.

I see how parts have moved and shifted and come together very gently and quietly into a beautiful realization filled with love.

Sure and very clear.

A million times, I’ve had to realize that something I’ve read or observed seemingly casually has deeply engaged me and sometimes even shaken me. So much so that sometimes I couldn’t function normally. I thought I was Mrs. Cool, but I’m not. I feel hard and deeply, which makes it so hard for me to visit the place of stillness.

Most of the realizations come as a surprise.I have often had to face the truth that the excitement I felt towards some people was nothing more than a warning to stay away from them. But the most bitter realizations here at my keyboard were when, out of the assumption that I was afraid, I expelled people I basically loved. Sometimes it was already too late.

I think I still have to consider myself lucky.

Writing is the only thing that doesn’t feel clumsy to me. It’s the only thing I can do when everything seems to be falling apart. I thought I got writing as a kind of gift to express myself, like others dance, sing, or paint.

But that is not the reason. I don’t write to express myself, but to discover what I then put between the lines and keep for myself, like a treasure.