Madonna was wrong. With all respect to the Material Girl, women of a certain age might agree with me. You see, in the 80s, we were told greed is good, more is better, and the need for speed is the way to go. Fast forward to the 21st century full of hustle, high speed Wi-Fi, and social media bombardment of lifestyle goals, and this former material girl has reconsidered her perspective on what she really wants from life.
I’ve been guilty of too much ambition more than once. I always thought there was something more, something better I needed in my life.
When I graduated college at the ripe old age of 35, I thought I would teach and write historical fiction. Unfortunately, I fell into a bad romance that lasted five long years. By the end, I had lost my voice as a writer. I certainly could not believe in love nor happy ever after. It was nothing but slogging through the pain for several years.
Twenty years later, I was sewing an experimental quilt—I’m a fashionista seamstress. Quilting has never appealed to me. It’s too precise, too fussy, too much work. But, a tall, dark, and handsome man of my acquaintance had a milestone birthday. So, I was willing to try something new. My standard sewing machine is too small for quilting. I was mulling over how to stitch the quilting lines when I remembered I have a 1947 Singer cast iron machine. I lugged it out and got to stitching. Somewhere in the 873rd line of stitches, I experienced a perfect moment. I was blissfully ignoring everything else but holding the fabric straight, delighting in the steadiness of the stitches.
I picked up that Singer about an hour south. After a quick deal online, I drove forever through the Northern Neck of Virginia to find an old cottage much like my own. I paid $10 for it. I started sewing in 1982. A cast iron Singer had always been the gold standard to me but I could never quite let myself have one. I didn’t need it. I had other machines over the years that worked perfectly well. I’m more generous with myself now that the kids are grown. I treasure the amazing find it was. I rarely use it because it doesn’t sew very fast. I like to go fast. Quilting needs a steady rhythm that isn’t fast. That makes the Singer perfect for quilting.
As I breathed deeply in the steady, humming bliss, I felt my life shift. I stopped dating ten years ago. I seemed unnecessary to my future. I was much happier alone after the bad romances. A few years ago, women around me died so unexpectedly that it gave me reason to reconsider my aloneness. I knew there would come a time that I would regret not having a life partner. Grieving the loss of those women was the beginning of that transition in my mind. The quilting gentleman of my acquaintance made me dig deeply into why I did not want to be married again. I realized I didn’t want to be divorced again. Marriage could be negotiated. Divorce cannot. That truth came from deep growth and honesty with myself, things I had not forced myself to face for many years. In the process, I found my voice again. I found the strength to speak my own truth in love and life. It sounds so different at this age.
The material girl in me wanted something so anathema to the consumer-mad lifestyle of do more, be more that I had to take a full circle view of what life could be from this moment forward. As the rows of stitches grew, I could see what could only be described as a slow life.
I dream of my grandmother once every few years. I used to smell her perfume, an old Avon scent. I look more like her than my mother. Granny was my best friend until I was a teenager. She and I wrote letters to each other when I was an adult. She taught me to hand sew—I wanted to make Barbie clothes SO badly. I learned to make fried chicken, sweet tea, and gravy from scratch by watching her. I spent long, hot summer days watching soap operas in her house-a converted dairy barn five miles outside of town. Those were the days before computers and more than three TV stations. The pace of her life was slow and dependable. She lived on Granddaddy’s social security but she was rich in love. And fried chicken.
To successfully machine quilt, each line needs to start at opposite ends of the quilt. If you don’t turn it, the whole thing can go wonky and never be squared up. I dutifully turned and stitched, seeing the many ways my life has already slowed down. I much prefer a quiet night at home over going to an event where more than 15 people could show up. Noisy restaurants are tolerable if the food is good. If the food is sub-par, the noise wasn’t worth it. I like a day trip to the mountains or Virginia Beach. I want to be in my own bed by nightfall. My perfect day is sewing while I listen to an audiobook. I like to sit outside with my first cup of coffee and listen to the yard wake up. If I never go to another amusement park again, I will count myself lucky. Middle age and experience has made me more selective of what and who I allow into my life.
I’ve spent the last week (not getting more quilting time) paying closer attention to the pace of my days, to the things and people I cherish—from my amazing new grandson to the scream of summer cicadas. We’ve all been talking about mindfulness since COVID. It’s kinda like that but more thorough, more alive somehow. The slow life is designing your existence so that everything in your presence is important and functional. I see it as the enchantment of everyday life.
So, on these pages I will talk about the simple things that move me as well as how to slow down and feel your life one moment at a time but no pressure, I promise. We will talk about the journey we are sharing, from the determination of the spirit like my friend Traci as well as the grief of incredible loss (I love you, Kat). This is where I quietly renounce my independence and lean into the shelter we find with one another. I hope Madonna finds the same wealth of love around her and quiet moments to take it all in.
Slow Life Vibe 