#lifeafter60

There is a particular comfort in routines that don't ask for anything new of you. The same vendor, the same vegetables, the same walk in the morning. Not because nothing changes but because some things need to stay steady to make room for everything that doesn't.

The monsoon arrives in Bangalore not gradually but all at once. One afternoon the sky decides, and that is that. After months of heat the smell of the first rain on dry earth is one of those things that stops you wherever you are and makes you just stand there for a moment.

Slow living is sometimes described as doing less. I think it is more accurately described as doing things with more attention. The quantity does not change as much as the quality of presence brought to it. That distinction matters, because the first version sounds like laziness and the second one is genuinely hard work.

Slow living is not a retreat from the world. It is a way of being in it that doesn't require constant acceleration. The news still matters. The garden still needs attention. The difference is in the pace at which you move between them.

Some mornings I read the news and then go water the plants. Not because the garden matters more than what is happening in the world. Because I need to do something with my hands that has a clear and immediate result. The plant either needs water or it doesn't.

There is a version of patience that is passive — waiting for things to improve on their own. And a version that is active — showing up consistently, doing the small things, not expecting immediate results. The garden has been teaching me the second version for years.