I outgrew the pace

For ten years, I ran.

I didn’t run physically (I hate jogging). I ran spiritually. I ran vibrationally.

I lived in a city that vibrated at a frequency of “NOW.” The crosswalk signals mocked you for walking too slowly. The baristas made coffee with the frantic energy of bomb disposal experts. The drivers honked if you paused for 0.4 seconds after the light turned green.

And for a long time, I loved it.

I loved the velocity. I felt like I was drafting behind a race car. The city pulled me along. It made me faster, sharper, more productive. I walked fast. I talked fast. I ate fast.

I was synchronized with the machine.

But then, something shifted.

The Drag

It started subtle. I began to feel a sensation of drag.

You know that feeling when you are walking a large, excited dog, and it is pulling you down the street? Your arm is extended, your shoulder is tight, your feet are stumbling to keep up?

That is what my life felt like.

My internal metronome had slowed down. Maybe it was age. Maybe it was burnout. Maybe it was just wisdom. But my soul wanted to walk at 3 miles per hour. The city wanted to walk at 6.

Every day was a friction burn.

I would stand on the escalator, and people would sigh behind me because I wasn’t walking up the moving stairs. Why are we rushing? I wanted to scream. The stairs are moving for us!

I would sit in a meeting, and people would talk over each other, trying to get to the “action items” before the hour was up. I wanted to pause. I wanted to think. But thinking was “slow.” And slow was bad.

Fast is Not Better. Fast is Just Faster.

High-energy cities operate on the assumption that Speed = Value.

If you can do it faster, you are better. If you can get there sooner, you win.

But I started to realize that speed often comes at the cost of depth.

You can read a book in 4 hours if you speed-read. But you won’t savor the sentences. You won’t cry at the end. You’ll just have read it.

You can have a conversation in 10 minutes if you stick to the bullet points. But you won’t see the other person’s soul.

The city was optimized for transaction, not connection.

I realized I was becoming a skimmer. I skimmed articles. I skimmed conversations. I skimmed my own life. I was moving so fast I was skating over the surface of everything, never breaking the ice to see the water below.

The Panic of Stillness

The scariest thing about the pace was what happened when it stopped.

When I visited my parents in the suburbs, or went to a cabin for a weekend, I would panic.

The silence felt heavy. The slowness felt like waiting. What are we waiting for? my brain would scream. Let’s go! Let’s do something!

I was an addict going through withdrawal. I was addicted to cortisol.

I had confused “anxiety” with “aliveness.”

Finding Your Rhythm

Moving to a slower place wasn’t just about “relaxing.” It was about syncing up.

When I moved here, the first thing I noticed was the gait.

People walk differently here. They stroll. They meander. They stop to look at things.

At first, I was the rude one. I was the one weaving through pedestrians on the sidewalk, huffing at the slow cashier.

But then, I forced myself to match the pace.

I forced myself to drive the speed limit (a novel concept). I forced myself to sit on the porch for 20 minutes without my phone.

And slowly, the drag sensation went away.

My internal metronome synchronized with the external world.

The Luxury of Time

I realized that Slowness is a luxury.

In the fast city, time was a scarcity. It was something I was always “running out of.”

Here, time feels abundant. The days feel longer. Not because they are boring, but because they are spacious.

I have time to cook. I have time to read. I have time to be bored (back to Essay 05).

I am no longer being dragged by the dog. I am walking the dog.

If you feel like you are always out of breath, check your environment. Are you trying to run a sprint in a marathon world? Or are you trying to walk in a sprinting world?

There is no “correct” pace. Some people are cheetahs. Some are tortoises.

But if you are a tortoise trying to keep up with cheetahs, you will die of exhaustion. And you will miss the beautiful view from inside your shell.

Slow down. You’re not late. You’re just here.