The Speed of Life is Going to Kill Us

Finding a better cadence than sprinting, rushing and fast

Photo by 𝓴𝓘𝓡𝓚 𝕝𝔸𝕀 on Unsplash

Am I a part of the cure or am I a part of the disease?

                   --Coldplay, A Rush of Blood to the Head

Perhaps what I needed is not only to learn good medicine but to become good medicine. As a parent. A friend or a doctor. Sometimes, just being in someone’s presence is good medicine.”

                   --Rachel Naomi Remen, My Grandfather’s Blessing

Speed is going to kill us. I’m convinced of it. 

What will it ever take for us to take off the socks and shoes of hurry and scurry? This breathless living—what are the effects on us, in us, to us?

Creating more space in our lives is a necessity. Why? Because without space, we will lose our humanity.  It very well could be that we actually are the frog in the kettle. The water around us seems as if we are at the boiling point. Who is going to survive?

Spaciousness to breathe. Spaciousness to be together in rest and not in fatigue; spaciousness to recover our lives and catch our breath. I’m advocating for a gentle spaciousness that fosters a life connected to the deep and moving currents of our soul that sustains us—not drains us. This is an unseen current of life that renews us and does not suck the very life out of us.

I take the summer off from my work in spiritual direction and counseling. In my closing sessions this week, I’ve asked my companions to think about doing less; creating spaciousness in their daily calendars; shave off minutes of a planned meeting and create a buffer—a time in between. I’ve asked them to consider if their life—the pace of their lives is sustainable?  I ask this question of us?

Can you live the way you are living now for the next five years?

Two people told me that they arrived to their Zoom time with me in a sprint—a fast breathless race to get from the last meeting to this time with me of heart felt conversation. I saw it in their eyes. I read it in their texts. I recalled my own life of spinning on the hamster wheel. I know that life and it almost claimed my marriage and my life as its victims.

It is as if we forget that we are humans and not AI crafted machines of doing more; doing it more efficiently; doing it faster—even in our personal lives.

I asked each of my companions this question: Who told you that you had to sprint?

Answer that question and you will be doing far better work than trying to balance what cannot be balanced. Answer that question and you will be sorting through narratives told us by our MBA’s and MDivs.  Most of our education simply has not prepared us for the speed of life that we are now in and much of what we have learned and acquired as education needs to be rethought. We have been taught to be effcieint. But we have not been taught to live well—and for this lack of knowledge, we are in peril.

Here, what the Scriptures calls, “ancient ways” are needed and welcomed. 

“Thus says the Lord: “Stand by the roads, and look, and ask for the ancient paths, where the good way is; and walk in it, and find rest for your souls. But they said, ‘We will not walk in it.’—Jeremiah 6:16

Ways that are describe as different way of living that is sane, robust—these ways are the antidote to today’s dilemma. And then there are these words that Jesus says of his followers that the cadence of of someone’s life who follows him should be—“easy and light.” I know. I know. It sounds impossible. But is it?

But answer this question: Who told you that you needed to sprint?

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I hope you’re enjoying my words in prose and poem. I’ve written a poem to help me say this in less words. Here, I am taking much of what I have learned and know and observing, noticing and becoming curious as to how to say it differently; how to say it more succinctly; how to say it so that it might land in your heart in a way it might stick and stay. Here’s where you have to decide what you want and what you think you need. The break here is intentional as it is a space to now make a choice to support me in my endeavors as a poet—as someone who is translating what I see into fewer words. It takes a subscription and when you do this, and for all who have become Subscribers—it litterally puts wind in my sails to carrying on. I’m so grateful. I’m especially grateful when you “heart” an Substack post that you resonate with—why? Because it helps others to find the post. Even more, I’m loving it when you choose to leave a comment. This kind of engagement builds a flock of us to talk sanely away from the current of social media. Thanks for your understanding. Thanks for flocking with me here.

My poem is about a generous presence. Just these two words: “generous” and “prescence” is a beautiful way of expressing the heart’s longing to be heard; to be seen; to be welcomed; and to be truly known.

We all know the people in our lives who offer a generous presence. I sure do. It’s stunning the contrast to sit with someone who offers their soulful presence and one you only eat a lunch with. The difference is remarkable. Just yesterday, a dear, new friend asked me for lunch. He did not ask me to eat food with him. He asked me for space to be together and it is in this space that I am must myself-most fully human—more in touch with the deep current within me and within my friend.