Dr. Maria DeBlassie

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Lessons in Slow Living

This time last year, I was getting serious about slowing down and getting grounded after the publication of my first book and as I started to wrap up a series of large curriculum development projects in my professorial life. I was proud of everything I did but also realized I couldn’t sustain that workload, nor could I sustain the intense extroverted energy that I’d been putting out into the world to accomplish those things. I am, at heart, an introvert, after all, and if I don’t have my quiet, my solitude, and my unstructured time, I can’t nourish my soul.

Little did I know that a pandemic would sweep across the globe, hitting my city in mid-March. We went on immediate lockdown for six weeks and everything went into moving my students online and doing what I could to support my community during this unprecedented time. It was messy, hard work, as it was for everyone. Still is, really.

But there was also stillness. Six-week of lockdown—home. Quiet. I couldn’t drive around or wasn’t running between multiple campuses. I also recognize my privilege and it is with profound gratitude that the colleges I work at immediately moved to remote learning and that I could safely work from home when so many suffered from unemployment, contagion, and more. The past year has become a time where the issues and problems of our regular lives were pushed to the forefront. I could no longer ignore my feelings of burnout, and, like so many others, the pandemic became a time where I had to get real about what I wanted in my life and what I didn’t.

The biggest lesson I learned during this time is that I used busyness—unnecessary professorial projects, draining social activities, and trying to push myself back into more traditional academic scholarship—as a way of hiding. If I was too busy, I didn’t have room to feel certain things or think seriously about if I wanted to do any of this. But when I was forced to be physically still due to the pandemic, I was also forced to face some hard truths about how I was living and why I felt the need to slow down in the first place.

So I slowed down. I let myself feel what I needed to feel and took a good hard look at my life. Then I got rid of anything that was weighing me down. I realized that many of my teaching projects weren’t equitable, as I gave out far more to projects than I was being compensated for. So I stopped giving energy to these energetic sink-holes, vowing to only take on projects in which I was compensated for my time, expertise, and labor. Then I turned to many of my social outlets, including some bookclubs I ran. As it turned out, many of those things were all fine and good until life got complicated. So I put an end to those too, even though it hurt a little.

The last thing I looked at was the many writing projects I was exploring, from pursuing scholarly work again, to critical essays, and other modes of expression. As it turns out, I’m a bit of a slut for words. I love stories I. love talking about them and analyzing them and learning about the historical and cultural moments that produced them. But what I love more than any of that is writing them. So that’s where I’m directing my focus now. After ten years of (mostly) healing from graduate school and the trauma of academia, I’m focusing on my first love: storytelling. I’ll still be writing about everyday magic and all things brujeria. In fact, my second book, Practically Pagan ~ An Alternative Guide to Magical Living, will be out this fall. But I’m also more seriously committed to moving more deeply into the realm of fiction…look for more stories like Hungry Business in the near future.

All in all, this year of slow living has helped me return to my core belief in everyday magic. I’m less about burning the midnight oil and more about being in bed early so I have time to read before settling in for a night of deep dreaming. I’m about having time in the morning to savor a cup of coffee on my patio and an hour in the afternoon to take a walk or tend my garden. And I’m about allowing myself the time and space I need to process how much the world has changed in one short year.

Now, when I feel the desire to take on a new project or add one more thing to my already full plate I ask myself the following questions:

Is it sustainable? That is, is this something that I can do long-term when life gets tough? Or is it only something I can maintain when I’m operating at 100% and there are no plot twists coming my way? If I can’t picture myself tending these things after a rough week, then the truth is I don’t have the energy to tend them when things are good.

Is it enjoyable? Does this activity fundamentally bring me joy? Or am I driven by my ego or toxic social norms to do it? There’s a lot I took on, in retrospect, because I was trying to prove myself or conform to a world that doesn’t believe in magic. Other stuff I explored because I was always trying to heal the traumatizing experience that was graduate school or reclaim my untainted enjoyment of scholarship. Now, I recognize that I don’t need to keep scratching at those old wounds or force myself to be anything other than I am. Instead, I simply follow the joy.

Is it nourishing? This last question is all about understanding what fills up our souls and provides a bone-deep sense of health and healing. If something makes me feel ragged or anxious, I don’t do it. Period. I’ve looked at my workload and done what I can to make online learning manageable and nourishing for both me and my students. I take time in my week to practice self-care. I allow myself to turn my thoughts inward and ignore the hysterical energy that too-often contaminates the air, much like COVID. I allow myself to seek refuge in stories that nourish me and help me discover better ways of being.

I hope, dear readers, that you’ve been able to find some wisdom during this difficult time, too. I look forward to journeying deeper into the realm of everything magic with you this year!

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