Slowing Down in a Fast-Paced World
As I reflected today on the pace of life, I thought of Alice in Wonderland and the White Rabbit rushing about, exclaiming:
“I’m late, I’m late, for a very important date! No time to say ‘hello, goodbye,’ I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!”
Doesn’t that feel familiar? That constant sense of urgency, the pressure to race through life? We live in a world that seems to thrive on speed.
- Someone texts us—we reply instantly.
- Someone emails us—we respond immediately.
We’ve been trained to live this way, conditioned by the rapid pace of modern life. Once, we had the patience to wait for letters to arrive. Now, even the brief delay of a response can feel intolerable.
The Gallop of Life
There’s a story of a man riding a horse at breakneck speed. As he gallops past a friend, the friend calls out, “Where are you going?” The rider shouts back, “I don’t know—ask the horse!”
This image resonates deeply. Like the rider, we often don’t know where we’re going, just holding on for dear life, swept up by the pace. We’re so habituated to this rush that we barely notice it, our attention flitting moment to moment, barely anchored in the present.
A Lesson in Slowness
Years ago, I attended an eight-day retreat titled “Resting in Natural Awareness.” One of the guiding teachers was someone I didn’t know well, but her reputation for devotion and wisdom drew me in.
As we settled into the meditation hall, everyone sought their ideal spot—close to the teachers, near the door, wherever they felt most at ease. And then, the retreat began.
I quickly became aware of something: the teacher spoke very slowly. Painfully. Agonizingly. Slowly.
At first, her pace was distressing—activating. My mind raced:
“Just get to the point! I’ve come all this way, and now I have to endure this?”
The impulse to walk out tugged at me. If it were a Zoom retreat, I might have muted her, distracted myself, or even logged off. But I stayed.
In those moments, I turned to my practice. I used my breath and my body as anchors, trying to self-soothe. Gradually, the agitation softened—not on my timeline, but on its own.
The Unexpected Gift of Slowness
As I stayed with the experience, something surprising emerged: grief and sadness. I realized that her unhurried cadence mirrored the natural rhythm of my body—a rhythm I had long ignored.
The speed I had grown accustomed to felt aggressive, even unkind. It became clear how much I had lost by racing through life, missing the fullness of each moment.
Slowing down allowed me to see with clarity—without demanding the moment be anything other than what it was.
Breathing Room
One of my teachers, Bill Morgan spoke about working in 11-second intervals—the time of one long breath—before reacting or taking the next bite of food. It’s a simple yet profound practice. Slowing down creates space for clear seeing and deliberate action.
Meditation teaches us to pause, to notice our reactivity, and to meet the difficult and uncomfortable with mindfulness. When we slow down, we can name what’s present and attune to what’s needed.
Pema Chödrön captures this beautifully:
“Feelings like disappointment, embarrassment, irritation, resentment, anger, jealousy, and fear, instead of being bad news, are actually very clear moments that teach us where we’re holding back. They teach us to perk up and lean in when we feel we’d rather collapse and back away. They’re like messengers that show us, with terrifying clarity, exactly where we’re stuck. This very moment is the perfect teacher, and, lucky for us, it’s with us wherever we are.”
The Practice of Resting
On the meditation cushion, the body rests. The mind, in turn, rests on the body.
Slowing down isn’t easy in a world that rewards speed, but it’s a practice worth cultivating.
Can we slow down and embrace this moment—however it arrives—