Lately I have been consuming entirely too much; far too many books, blogs, podcasts, poems, essays, articles, lectures, and more books. For all of my talk about trying to accept what is, I am still decidedly not great at it. Because what I am (as I was reminded when I nearly had a nervous breakdown this past month trying to keep up with all of it) is someone who likes contemplation. Someone who requires it even. Often very long periods of it. I am in complete awe, and am slightly envious, of people who can read or listen to, synthesize and digest so much so quickly. But that isn’t the way I’m built, and when I can stop comparing myself to others for long enough I am ok with that. As I settle into a slower pace and appreciate just how much more I gain by allowing myself to be who I am, I like it even.