Slow Moments: Week Five.

“You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me.”

― C. S. Lewis

When I woke up this past Monday on Vashon Island, it occurred to me that I’d gone over a week without a Slow Moment.

That’s the beauty of setting up such a project – not only do I get the lovely privilege of sharing your moments of awareness and intention from around the world, but it also keeps me accountable for creating such moments in my own life.

After dropping off one of Vera’s daughters at the ferry terminal, who had been visiting us for a long weekend, I headed to a little place in town called the Vashon Tea Shop. I’d passed it several times before, usually on my way to the print shop to scan yet another round of sketches, and there always seemed to be someone sitting by the front window with a pot of tea and a book.

Like the great C. S. Lewis put it so perfectly, the scene looked idyllic, and on Monday, I decided it was time to finally re-create it for myself. The fact that there were soft and steady showers falling all day only seemed to affirm my plan.

The tea room was quite the eclectic establishment – mismatched chairs were arranged around a handful of tables, white paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, and wooden shelves were lined with beautiful silver canisters, each labeled with the name of the loose tea they held.

As I took my place in line, I listened to the woman in front of me order a cup of Darjeeling.

“Do you want first, second, or third?” asked the shop’s owner, Boo.

The customer was justifiably confused, as I would also have been, had I not visited the tea’s namesake city in India a year and a half ago. It was there that I learned about the various flushes, or stages, of a tea harvest – and how the tea grows in strength with each flush. Thus the first and lightest flush is a spring harvest, the second flush takes place during the summer, and the third autumn flush yields the strongest of teas.

This mental return to Darjeeling wasn’t the only moment of convergence for me that afternoon at the tea shop. A lucky carp windsock pinned to the wall took me back to hiking the 88-Temple Circuit on Shodoshima Island in Japan last spring – one of my favorite motifs from the island was arriving at a temple to find five or six brightly colored carps billowing on a flagpole.

And when I glanced once more at the shelves of tea canisters, the labels read almost like a list of some of my favorite places from the last few years – Kyoto Cherry, Moroccan Mint, Nilgiri Black from southern India.

I suddenly felt like the young protagonist in Lewis’ novel The Magician’s Nephew, a boy named Digory who discovers a magical forest of pools, with each pool leading him to a different world. Everywhere I looked in the shop, I was transported to another corner of the globe, and re-connected with the journeys I’ve taken. I realized this forest of converging worlds is always there for us – it only requires taking the time to be aware of it. I realized the disparate pieces of our lives connect more often than we think.

When it was finally my turn to order – a pot of Darjeeling third flush, of course – Boo apologized that it might take a few minutes.

“You’re not in a rush, are you?” she asked.

It was a welcome change to assure her I most certainly was not.

Slow moment in Toronto: Pauline

The sun was shining, its brightness heavily reflected by the snow banks piling around town. I stepped out of my optometrist’s office, eyes widely dilated (as per the bi-annual check-up procedure) and thus my pupils were happily taking in all the sunrays they could get. I no longer scoff at those who wear sunglasses in the winter, rather I longed for a pair of my own, only to shield my eyes from the sun’s unforgiving glare.

I was ordered to sit still for the next hour-and-a-half – a difficult thing to do because 1) I don’t know how to sit still and 2) I drove myself to the appointment and now I wasn’t allowed to get back into the driver’s seat until my eyesight returned to normal. I sulked and scoffed – it’s difficult enough to sit still in the comfort of your own home, but now I had to do it at a doctor’s office.

So I did the next best thing: I went to Starbucks across the street. I wobbly walked towards the familiar round, green symbol, the nymph barely visible as my eyes started to water and the brightness became too much to take in. I stood in line, ordered my usual Caramel Apple Spice with Light Whip, looked around and found an empty stool, facing the street, definitely the perfect spot for people-watching and a much better one compared to the doctor’s office.

At first I started to think this was a waste of time. I couldn’t do anything, not even draft a blog post by hand-writing it because everything was a blur and my eyes were not focusing at all. Then something in me shifted and I started to realize how calming it feels to just sit still. To let my mind rest for a little bit. To watch the people walking outside. To pay attention to the little details around me: that old man used one packet of white sugar, one packet of brown sugar in his coffee, and no milk (I still can’t believe there are people who drink their coffee black!). The girl beside me seemed bored as she aimlessly scrolled on her propped-up tablet. The young guy at the end of the bench was thrilled to see a table open up and promptly moved all his stuff there, looking pompous and content, like he had just found a treasure.

I let my mind wander further and slowly, and I began to recognize these all-too-familiar feelings – the feeling of being anonymous, the feeling of being an observer, the feeling of being an outsider looking in, basically the feelings of travel. 

I let my mind wander and we explored the webs of feelings and memories; the result gave me a feeling of gratitude not only for this extraordinary life I have, but for the people I’ve encountered and met throughout the journey. I ended up sitting down for two hours before getting back to the car and driving myself home.

Pauline lives in Toronto, Canada, and blogs at: www.talesofapilgrim.com

There’s officially one week left in the Slow Moments Project, so keep sending through your moments for the final round-up! Feel free to get any stories and photos to me at [email protected].