Tea & Gravel
A Brief Meditation on Moving Slowly
“When walking, walk. When eating, eat,” Thich Nhat Hanh reminds us, his words carrying the weightless gravity of a single breath. It’s such a simple instruction, yet it has the power to pull us out of the noise we carry with us. I often say something similar to my wife when we’re walking—the point of walking is to know we’re walking. It’s not a riddle; it’s an invitation. An invitation to be present, to notice the rhythmic scuff of our shoes against gravel, the subtle choreography of tree branches swaying, and the way the light dapples the earth like a slow-moving miracle. Walking is not about the destination. It is the act itself, the practice of being alive.
So often, we move through the world in a haze of distractions. The body walks, but the mind runs—endlessly chasing yesterday or plotting tomorrow. In doing so, we miss what is right here, beneath our feet and in the air around us. What does the path smell like after the rain? How does the earth feel when it is kissed by the soles of our shoes? These are questions we forget to ask when we hurry.
Today, I’ll keep practicing: drinking tea and drinking tea. Walking and walking. Living and living.
James Norbury, Big Panda and Tiny Dragon (London: Michael Joseph, 2021), 92.