I wound down the car window after giving way to a pedestrian. “I’m so sorry,” she said, expecting I might scold her. “I just can’t walk fast, sorry.” She hung her head low in shame, but the bright hues of her scarf hinted at a joyful spirit. “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “Don’t ever feel you need to apologise for walking slow. Own it, always walk at your own pace, never let anyone rush you!”
She stopped in her tracks, turned to face me, and with a hint of a tear in her eye and a quiver in her voice said, “Oooh, thank you, you have made my day, I always feel so bad for being so slow.” We exchanged a few more words before both of us went on our way with smiles on our faces, and I, a warmth in my heart.
This exchange stayed with me for more than a week. It could perhaps be something to do with a connection that was made with a stranger that day, since I rarely roll down my car window to offer unsolicited advice. But that day, something within me recognised the power of going slow, and this stranger became my teacher.
Teachers, and lessons on life, can come to us in many ways, a book, a line in a song, a comment from a friend, a loving criticism from a teacher, or even, as was in my case, from the strangers we encounter. The irony being, that if we don’t slow “the car” down enough we will drive past and miss out on receiving the wisdom. That moment reminded me of something I’ve been reflecting on lately: how often we rush through life without noticing the wisdom in slowness. And what better time to explore this than Ramadan?
Ramadan began ten days ago, it is for many millions around the world a time, among other things, dedicated to slowing down. To the uninitiated Ramadan is a time when Muslims don’t eat or drink between sunrise and sunset. Yet, that is just one layer, there are many more.
Fasting, in the literal sense enables the body and digestive system to rest and reset. In the absence of food and drink, we begin to notice how they have served as a buffer against boredom, anxiety, or even deeper emotional unrest, revealing just how much we use consumption of food and drink as a coping mechanism. There are many cultures in which fasting is a regular practice and more so in modern times fasting, and eating within a sixteen-hour window, has also become well recognised for its health benefits. In a spiritual sense, fasting from food and drink and pushing the body into a state of hunger and thirst has a cascading effect on the mind and spirit. When you experience physical withdrawal symptoms and your energy dips, your mind becomes more active, sometimes even aggressive. The mind, and specifically the Ego self, begins to speak louder.: “Ugh, just eat something, just have some water, who cares about this fasting, why are we doing this anyway?” But why are we doing this anyway?
The greatest deprivation is not of food or drink, but of harmful, unloving thoughts. This is often harder to achieve, yet it is an essential practice for personal growth and effective leadership...
It is common for us to go along in life living in a comfort zone, where we are operating in a zone of relative ease, rarely do we stop and with conscious intent put ourselves in a position of discomfort. When there already seems to be so many challenges in life, why would we want to intentionally inflict more upon us? The key word here is intentionally. Living in a comfort zone, letting life pass by, can become a limiting habit. As a Death Doula, I have sat with many people in their final moments of life, and I’ve witnessed how often they reflect on a desire for deeper fulfilment.
Deep fulfilment doesn’t come from an external source, of which food and drink are, nor does deep fulfilment come from repeating the same daily habits. That’s not to say habits aren’t beneficial. But being stuck in repetitive loops causes stagnation, a kind of unconsciousness that may help you get through life’s motions but doesn’t challenge you. And without challenge, there’s no true growth or fulfilment of such a magnitude that will see you on your death bed feeling truly and deeply fulfilled.
In a state of intentional deprivation we allow our carnal Egoic physical self to starve, and while it is starving it provides space for other aspects of ourselves, that ordinarily in the monotony of daily life, we neglect. Slowing down in any form, whether through fasting or moving at a different pace, can provoke discomfort, as it agitates our ingrained drive to compete, to keep up, and to secure our place in the world before someone else does. As one of my spiritual teachers, a Sufi Sheikh, recently taught me, this is called Pattern Interruption. Pattern interruption is when we intentionally break away from the habitual rhythms of our lives, rhythms that often operate unconsciously, disrupting our automatic reactions, thoughts, and behaviours. By stepping out of these familiar patterns, we create space for new perspectives and deeper self-awareness. The modern sixteen-hour fast is usually a physical practice, while the Ramadan fast is deeply mental, emotional, and spiritual.
Sufi saint Ibn Ata’illah Al Iskandari says, “When He (Universal Consciousness) opens up your understanding of deprivation, deprivation becomes the same as giving.” What does that mean? On first glance, this might seem paradoxical, how can deprivation, typically associated with lack, be equated to giving? My humble interpretation is that true deprivation doesn't just involve abstaining from something externally; it involves shifting our internal relationship with what we think we need in order to thrive. In this sense, deprivation opens space for deeper awareness and connection.
When our physical senses are stretched and screaming what happens? Our mind wants to run riot, our emotions want to react and our spirit or energy is challenged. This is when we are called for patience and forgiveness, with both ourselves and those around us.
As our awareness grows, we begin to notice the judgmental thoughts that arise, not only toward others but also ourselves. The greatest deprivation is not of food or drink, but of harmful, unloving thoughts. This is often harder to achieve, yet it is an essential practice for personal growth and effective leadership as it empowers us to take control over our mind and cultivate a more compassionate, focused approach in all aspects of life.
No matter how kind we strive to be, we all fall into judgmental thinking and backbiting. Fasting from these thoughts during Ramadan has been one of my most eye-opening realisations. As I become aware of these habitual thoughts and consciously redirect them, I feel empowered to regain control over my mind. This process leads me to examine why I have such thoughts, often revealing underlying dissatisfaction with my own life, lessons that are, in time, profoundly transformative.
She has humbly left me with one lingering curiosity: Could it be that going slower actually gets us where we want to go faster?
What areas of your life could benefit with greater introspection? Is there something you could make an intentional decision to abstain from for a week or a few days to enable yourself to draw your attention to other aspects of you and your life? A way to interrupt an unconscious pattern, perhaps a fast from social media or even your phone. By fasting from social media or limiting phone use, you may be able to create that feeling of discomfort and invite a space to reconnect with yourself and the world around you. A great way to do this could be to also keep a small journal with you and throughout the day observe how many times you notice yourself thinking about that thing that you have decided to abstain from, or noting down the times when you became impatient or unloving in your thoughts towards another, and to then journal the emotions and physical sensations that that deprivation elicits.
Deprivation causes one to slow down, why? Because no longer are you operating from operandus-modi, no longer can you go through the day on auto-pilot, you are forced to stop and reflect, to pause and to be curious. The stranger I spoke to that day taught me a lesson in patience and forgiveness. She is no longer just a passing encounter, she has a home in my heart. And in moments when I need strength and inspiration, I revisit that lesson: to unapologetically go slow. She has humbly left me with one lingering curiosity: Could it be that going slower actually gets us where we want to go faster?
This article is authored by Nicole Sultana, who holds a Post Graduate Degree in Spiritual Care, a Post Graduate Certificate in Business (Marketing), and a Bachelor of Applied Science in Sports & Exercise. In addition, she is a Certified Therapeutic Sound Practitioner and a Death Doula. Nicole is the founder of Sound Consciousness, a company that offers wellbeing strategies and therapeutic sound practices to help individuals achieve peak performance in their professional lives, sporting endeavours, relationships, and personal aspirations.
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