“Slow Down”
The words of my mother echo in my ear. At 5, all I wanted to do was run around my apartment. Sprinting at full speed around the carpeted rooms, only momentarily adjusting my speed on the hardwood floors of the yellow kitchen. My older sister would yell across the room, “Lanie, you’re going to fall”. Her sarcastic words never got through as I sprinted past again. I remember seeing her eyes role as I would pass her Backstreet Boy posters. My running was so frequent my great-grandparents would call upstairs to our apartment whenever the running would stop. Simply to check if I was okay because they couldn’t hear the pitter patter over their head. They would always be reassured when the running would start again, as they took the shaking of their chandelier downstairs to mean everything was okay.
“Slow Down”
The words of every elementary school teacher I’ve ever had echo in my ear. I remember speeding through my spelling tests, being the first one in the class to finish just because I wanted “bragging rights”. The same thing would happen with every placement test and MCAS exam I took during my time at the Arthur T. Cummings . I thought it was cool to be the first one done. My scores would never match my capabilities. I was always more concerned with being first than showing what I could do. My teachers would constantly tell me to slow down, “to take my time” instead of racing to be first. They wanted me to see that it wasn’t a race, that the destination was more important than the time of arrival. I couldn’t seem to hear them.
“Slow Down”
My loved ones tell me. My brain moves at a million miles a minute, leading my words to travel at the speed of light. My brain can’t keep up with the speed of my words. My eagerness to contribute to conversations combined with my need to fill every silence means that I am often speaking at insane speeds. My friends have dubbed it “speaking Elaina”, meaning they are able to keep up with the speed of my conversations. Even my closest circle needs to remind me to slow down often because my mind is always racing. Despite my honest efforts to slow my words down, I always need more than one reminder.
“Slow Down”
My directors tell me. At this rate, being told to “slow down” during notes is almost a given. I remember talking with my mother about this note the first time I received it and not understanding why I was given this note. Her response was “You have important things to say, so it matters that everyone hears you”. I remember nodding along and truly trying to slow down with my delivery. I know that I have grown on stage, especially with my ability to deliver dialogue. Yet even in my most recent show, I was still told to “slow down”.
“Slow Down”
The upperclassmen say through their tears. I cry alongside them, trying to take in their warnings. I listened to the conversations about the passage of time. I thought they were being merely hyperbolic, instead they were giving me a glimpse into my future.
“Slow Down”
I tell myself, almost daily. I remember being told to slow down my whole life and simply wishing time would move faster. All I wanted was to be like my older sister and cousins. Simply, I longed to be older while simultaneously clinging to my Barbie’s and bubbles. I finally know what it means to slow down. I wish to pause time, to truly hold onto right now. I wish I listened to those advising me to slow down. I’m not ready to say goodbye to the people and places that have raised me. Months away from 18, I wish I could go back and truly slow down…
