‘I am quietly impressed by sheep. Sheep are grounded. They read the weather well. They are both solitary and communal.’ Photo: by Kevin Ku on Unsplash
One step at a time: Bernie Kennedy values slowing down at North West Regional Gathering
‘Stepping off this heady carousel was one of the simplest and quietest decisions I have taken.’
On the last weekend in March, over Zoom, we held the North West Regional Gathering of Friends. Sixty-five Friends were present, many of us getting on in years (though still retaining a childlike curiosity), but also a smattering of teenagers who helped us plan and facilitate.
We returned to the theme of time – specifically, ‘slow time’. This took me back to my time in paid employment. At one point in my career work was becoming impossible – everybody said so! There was too little time and just so much to do. Everybody was working faster and faster, expected to constantly speed up. So I decided to stop. Slow down. I couldn’t go on the way I was. I wasn’t enjoying my job. Indeed, I was even being blamed at times. Everybody was. Stepping off this heady carousel was one of the simplest and quietest decisions I have taken. For sure, it felt risky. It always is. But if I was going to be fired, I might as well go out smiling.
I took a little time just to stop, actually. To breathe. Work was exhausting, physically and emotionally. I’d almost lost the capacity for thought. While working on one task, the phone would ring and you’d have to switch to that task. Then, a colleague would stand by your desk, needing your immediate response, so you turned to that task. By the end of the day, what had you achieved?
It helped me that, outside of work, I had gained ways of looking at situations from different perspectives: storytelling, Quaker stuff, the Alternatives to Violence Project, creative facilitation, and trade union representation. All these involved listening, problem-solving and being creative.
What surprised me was the fact that, when I began to slow down, I started to complete tasks better, often ahead of schedule. Looking further along the calendar to see what was coming up, I prepared. We still had last-minute jobs to do, or immediate crises to deal with, but these became the exceptions, not the way of work. I used a team meeting to share with my closest colleagues what I was doing. We were a team, after all, and they were supportive. I found time for me. To my amazement I became more productive. And I liked myself and my work more. The last few years of my working life were very satisfying.
I was sometimes regarded as a ‘bit of a slacker’, seemingly not pulling my weight. I pointed out that my line manager was happy with me. I met my targets and did my job – one job. Life isn’t all about work, but a big chunk of it is. I work to live. Others at times were working the equivalent of two or even three jobs.
I wondered idly to myself whether others had shared similar experiences at work.
At the Gathering, at which the facilitators used creative visualisation techniques, we were asked to imagine ourselves in a place outdoors, where we felt safe. I found myself in mid-Wales at Dolobran, the Quaker cottage. It was a warm summer’s morning. The sky was brilliant blue. And blackbirds and coal tits were foraging in the undergrowth. Buzzards ee-eeked overhead.
Next we had to choose an animal to represent our mood. What would I pick? Mouse? Camel? Leopard? I became none of these. I became a sheep. After all, there were lots of them in the fields outside.
I am quietly impressed by sheep. Sheep are grounded. They read the weather well. They live outdoors all year round. They are both solitary and communal. I like jumpers too!
And if we were a timepiece, what would that be? People gave different examples. Grandfather clocks, of course. Mantelpiece clocks, wound by an old key. An old, plastic digital clock, aglow in the dark, keeping time. I love the steady ticking of an old clock, but I also feel its constraint. I should have been a watch, except I stopped wearing one years ago. They lie, like old elephant bones, in my bedside drawer. I chose a stick in the earth, casting a shadow from the sun – or it could be a lolly stick on a saucer or a finger on a palm.
We were brought back together and invited to go to our favourite indoor space. Where would I go? Without thinking too long, I was sitting quietly in the Large Meeting Room at my local Quaker Meeting House. Sun beams fell across the chairs through the two high, narrow windows. I heard the gulls cry as they circled above. Other friends joined me. As they crossed the room, the beams caught different chairs. For a short time, Friends are held in the Light.
Now we had to imagine a container to put that feeling inside. We’ve been lighting candles recently in remembrance, which is probably why I saw a picture of a small, empty matchbox. It would be just right for a sunbeam. It would fit in my pocket. I could feel it there, take it out, push a little, opening an end a bit more… a bit further till it tips out, almost, but not quite. That’s interesting, I noted. I liked the idea, but wasn’t about to give it up to the art therapist facilitator for comment. I’d keep it to myself, leaving it to bubble, like a bean in a pan, for the right time to respond, if so led.
It was a lovely way to spend a Saturday morning with Friends, some of whom I’ve worked with closely in the past, and now no more. They look well.
The next Gathering, in October, looks like it might be hosted by Manchester Friends. The theme is still to be agreed: the environment or Black Lives Matter. I hope to be there again, but, whether by Zoom or in person, only time will tell.
