The Slow Life
I drove past the old bus stop that was already near obsolete before the pandemic tapped the final nail on its coffin. The long parking lot where cars once piled into was empty, and where occupants abandoned their vehicles to ride the bus from Northwest Indiana to Chicago only months before or more truly what feels like years, war overridden by weeds grown in between cracks of the tar. Nature had forced its way against human concepts, human reasoning, proving that it would always return to its own natural order, I wondered about us. A big “For Sale” sign was planted in front of the lot like a tombstone for the once routine life.
A few weeks ago, while searching online I came across an old postcard for Trail Creek, Michigan City, dated 1922. The picture was what looked to be a family of three sitting in a canoe on the edge of the blue creek with greenery and flowers on either side of them. The scene a bright blue day with the sky gradating from blue to white then settling into a yellow that blended into the greenery of the trees, an overwhelming tranquility. I could imagine, decades ago, someone sending the card to family across the country with warm regards and upon receiving it, the family may decide that they would have to visit cousin whoever up in Indiana. Maybe the family would plan the whole trip, trace their route along the lines of a paper map as they traveled the old crossroads, thinking up games to past the time. Life was simple or could be.
I think of how my parents say that times have changed. And how from my youth to early adulthood, I can see it too in my own way. Without noticing until late, life had become an unceasing run, a race for something which no one can seem to grab. A life in which I feel too old for but by body too young for. 15 years ago, when adulthood was an eternity away, I would watch out of what appeared to be monotony cars passing in front of my childhood home, but in reality, were the last moments of the slow life passing by.
Sometimes I think about what they say was America’s favorite pastime. People used to crowd into stadiums or around radios to be entertained by baseball games, the results heard by the entire nation. In the past, there was synchronicity, an understanding that permeated the world, or maybe it was just pace. Notions of yesterday are gone, which happens with time but the essence of yesterday seems to be skewed as well, there was a semblance of reason, talent, meaning, a somewhat oneness, and that idea dwindles with each day. Cheapens itself the longer the “need” exists. The market moves fast and it is “limitless.” There are no radio stars or video stars when everybody is a star.
Not long ago there would be one viral video that people talked about for months and before that, maybe even years. But now virality is shoved down the throats of users until they’re forced to move onto a new topic within days or less. Times have changed even within the last five years. Viral videos come a dime a dozen, in fact the spontaneity of virality is marketed, boxed and put on shelves through social media apps. Nothing lasts. The slow life is dying, if not already dead.
There is no art to the virality or the glow of originality. There was something special about the camera catching funny moments without planning, peering into families’ homes through camera phones to find out we’re all the same people, there was meaning even in the mundane. The uniqueness is still there in some realms, however it’s in surplus. The world is in no shortage of entertainment. Before viral videos, we crowded around the TV to watch America’s Funniest Home videos and once we got our fill, it was over, and time was spent doing something else.
There’s something about immediate gratification that speeds the whole world up, about getting exactly what you need when you need it that gives us less time to do everything else, about instantaneity in the mundane that tips the scales. Who said having the world at your fingertips was a good thing? When you need for nothing, there are less journey’s taken, less experiences made, and an inner gaping hole for more.
