What's the Rush?
Learning to slow down, even when feeling behind.
I woke up on a Tuesday morning with a sense of urgency that had no clear point of origin. As I arose from bed, I clocked the number of minutes I had left to get out of the house to arrive at the studio “on time”—a time which is ultimately decided by me.
My partner left for the gym moments earlier, leaving me alone at the crib. When he kissed me goodbye, he asked if I would be gone by the time he returned. I nodded. As I brushed my teeth, I sensed an emptiness in my stomach but quickly dismissed it because “eating would take too long.” When getting dressed, I hastily chose an unsuitable outfit and subsequently became annoyed at my decision, knowing very well the level of comfort I desire in my studio. I begrudgingly changed clothes as I “wasted more time” to ensure my comfort.
As the minutes wound down, the wave of urgency swelled. I began to sense a heavy pressure in my chest and scrambled frenzy within my brain to get moving. Instead of continuing at a hurried pace, I recognized just how uncomfortable I felt in my own body and home. I paused. I then reached for an oracle deck that sits on my nightstand amongst a messy stack of books and journals.
After reading the message, I blurted, “Money” then chuckled to myself. I spouted off a superficial answer that in no way would ease the tension I presently felt in my body. So, I made a point to sit with the question a bit longer until a genuine answer emerged.
As I descended downstairs, I surveyed the unkempt living/dining room and walked into a kitchen with a sink full of dirty dishes I had promised my partner the night before to wash in the morning. I glanced at the microwave display, calculating just how late I would arrive to the studio. The pressure in my chest grew, my head spun like a hamster wheel secured to the end of a drill bit.
I stood still in the kitchen in silence, clocking my internal discomfort and witnessing the emotions and scripted stories arising. The answer emerged. I uttered aloud, “In order to relax, I want to take my time.” I became curious, wondering where the haste stemmed from in the first place. You know me, I like to pull threads. Why exactly do I have to be at the studio at 9:00am again?
I habitually tie a sense of productivity to a scarcity of time. Arrival time at the studio isn’t some arbitrary goal, it’s an indication of fear that the inability to remain disciplined in my craft will result in a delay or denial of my life’s purpose coming to fruition as quickly as I expect, because after all, I’m a “late bloomer” as it is. That’s a lot of pressure to be carrying as soon as you open your eyes in the morning.
In the middle of my dirty kitchen, I decided to release my attachment to the projection of disappointing my art mentor by not exhibiting consistent and punctual studio habits, the self-judgment at my own lack of discipline, and the conditioned pursuit of efficiency and productivity that guides a majority of my waking life and exhausts me before I can even get going.
Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished. —Lao Tzu
Affirm: I claim my divine right to take my time.
As we all know, change is uncomfortable—painful, really—even with baby steps. To ease the sudden assault of guilt and irresponsibility for choosing to slow down and take care of myself, I turned on music (above) to set an audible atmosphere to match my preferred tempo. I began to wash the dishes with presence despite the internal resistance. Three plates in and the sense of rush began to dissipate. I even started to sing. After picking up the living room, I blended up a smoothie and sat down at the table to savor it in silence. My partner returned, surprised I remained home. I shared my morning progress and headed to the studio in peace. I may have not been as productive at the studio, with the limited time I had before picking Annie up from school, but I learned a lesson and made more progress by being late—honoring my pace—than arriving on time in dismissal of my body’s clear request to slow down. What is for me cannot pass me by.
If you see me, I see you.
Get Curious About Yourself:
How would you describe your relationship to time?
From your perspective, are you behind, on time or ahead of the curve? For deeper reflection, break it down into parts: relationships, career, finances, family life, spiritual development, emotional maturity, etc.
How would you describe the pace of your everyday lifestyle? What are the origins of this tempo?
If you’re feeling courageous, let me know in the comments.
This was a on time read, Chazen! (Pardon the pun)
I resonate with a lot of this and have been reflecting on my relationship with time. Yesterday while out with a friend, I shared how even though I’ve been “away” from grind culture the last few years, I still find myself acting out. Rushing for no reason. Demanding so much of my time as if quantity trumps quality when it comes to my various pursuits. Lately I’ve been giving myself the permission to slow down, to not set a clock, to not speed walk when I’m just walking to the store, to just be. It’s a day by day work in progress. Sometimes I get it right and others I get it wrong. Again, thank you and I enjoyed listened to you read this piece!
What you said about in your own body and your own home— yep. I have moments of feeling so much pressure and then get curious and feel how tense certain parts of my body are like what the fuck am I clenching, holding, forcing, rushing for…… slowing down IS THE WORK AS MUCH AS THE OTHER THINGS. Being safe and home and in peace inside our body❤️ first. Foremost.