Noise, loud incessant unappealing to my ears choked the smile off my face. It did not soothe my soul. My weary body wretched by the stress of the frenzied beat of traffic, caused my face to tighten, deep wide lines surrounded my eyes.   Yet, I lived in a village, and one most definitely charming but one that has changed in recent years.  I lived in Main Street, the busy hub of everything and in this rather quaint village, there was little stillness to be found on this street.

I took my weary self away to a peninsula at the edge of the Wild Atlantic in Ireland.  I got the idea one day when I went for a cup of tea in one of the local pubs after I finished work.   As I sipped my tea, an idea bounced in my head.  “Why don’t I come here to spend some time to find out what I really want to do when I hit the big 66 of pension age.”

So here I am in The Sheep’s Head, miles from any village and after ten days I can honestly say that I love every minute of my new adventure hoping that this will become a true voyage of self-discovery.

 I am a slow person by nature.  Often the word slow falls out of my mouth. It is then I am met with a look which I am so familiar with.  No words need to be said but open lips lovingly insist that I don’t run myself down.  I can honestly say that when I use the word slow, I am not being overtly critical of myself.   

I have come into the realization that in our fast-paced hurried world we are not encouraged to be slow. We are socialized from birth into the belief that slowness is not a positive characteristic to have.   Everything is fast and instant. The dimensions of distance brought under control by air flight. We jump into a plane to arrive at a destination – fast; losing the thrill of the journey.  The joy of receiving a penned letter detailing the time and care of the author has been elbowed out by email.  We have fast food and fast fashion, and we make transactions without human connection.  

I like to walk slowly, meandering and pondering as I put one foot in front of the other.  I like to eat slowly, carry out actions slowly, in other words slow is part of my DNA and it does not mean that I am unintelligent, nor does it mean that I don’t know what I am doing.

An example, I recall being in a store, I picked up my basket and sauntered in. My eyes captured the beauty of the fruits and vegetables and then the variety of bread which teased my taste buds.  I was just placing my choice of bread in the basket when one of my favourite songs came on.    I stopped from what I was doing and melted into the music.  My movements slowed as I kept to the rhythm of the song.   I ambled over to the cheese and gazed upon the most wonderful display.  At this point my mind mulled over which cheese I should purchase.   It was here that a most affable lady came over and asked if I was ok and did, I require any assistance.  I smiled and said I was fine.   I could tell from her expression that she was genuinely concerned.  She spanned a huge beam on her face and said that she thought I was having difficulty because of my slowness.  

Here in The Sheep’s Head, I can be slow.  It is as I said in my make-up.  I have always been slow, and my day-dreaming mind was always lost in my re-imagined worlds of castles, dragons, elves and other mythical creatures.  Unfortunately. unappreciated traits especially in my younger years in the logical world of mathematics, physics, chemistry and the competitive physical world of P.E.   I coped by withdrawing to my special place, an old lone willow tree which stood by the river.  It was there I would escape from the barbed words of ‘stupid’ and ‘thick’, it  was there I would allow my mind to wander.  At this point I must add that I did not have a solitary life, and I was never bullied by schoolmates.  It would be wrong to suggest that I was.  I have fond memories of two close friends who I met at dance school, but they went to a different school, and I often wonder whether things would have turned out differently if I had gone to the same school as them.   However, one thing I can certainly say is that both friends were as introverted and bookish as me.

Here in The Sheep’s Head, I can lose myself in the vast dark night sky.  One evening I was lulled into sleep by just lying in bed admiring the beauty of the stars from my window.  As I take the twelve-minute walk to the bus stop I can say ‘hello’ to my neighbours, who just happen to be two adorable ponies.  I can stop and laugh at the antics of the wobbling geese and as I walk further down the road, shout ‘Good Morning’ to the cows.  

The wind is often mischievous by its attempt to keep you from moving forward and the rain can drive and cut into every pocket of skin.  But then there are days when I get up and the sun courses high and gives a beautiful smile over Dunmanas Bay.   The ever-changing vibration of waves, a soothing balm for my soul.  Each day different, each day offers newness to see and much to my appreciation the only night sound is the hoot of the owl.

Every commute to the bus stop is different, the sky, the hedgerows, the wind and the shadows.   I am always in awe at God’s beautiful handiwork, a gift that He has given us.  A gift that I can’t help but think grounds me and makes me aware as to what is important in life.  Do I want a life which I do nothing but live propelled by constant speed and continual noise with everything around me merging into invisibility as I race by?

So here I am in The Sheep’s Head wondering what may lie ahead. There is no utopia in this life, and I am sure I will meet challenges along the way. If I conspire to remain, I will surely sleepwalk into retirement.  I moved into this new phase with little possessions.   I donated many of my belongings to charity shops.  I said goodbye to my djembes, a huge pile of books, and clothing.  I embarked on this journey with two wheelies, art supplies and an old computer.   For such a time as this I need to live more simply and slower.

Until next time.