We live in a culture of hurry. A kind of low-grade, ever-present scurrying.
It can feel like we have more tasks than hours, more thoughts than we can possibly organize into neat little rows. Or maybe we don’t have a lot to do but our minds are racing.
We move fast… and somehow fall farther behind. We hurry… and become harried.
Lately, I’ve been noticing the many disguises this speed trap likes to wear:
The ever-present eyes-on-phone phenomenon - while resting, while watching TV, while standing in line, while supposedly “doing nothing.”
The subtle ambition to complete four things in the time designed for three (a math problem no one solves, yet everyone keeps attempting).
The tired, slightly haunted eyes we pass in hallways and workplaces.
The “rolling stop” of the car that is less a stop and more of a polite suggestion.
The mealtime where food is efficiently processed rather than actually tasted.
We are, all of us, participants in this grand relay race of urgency.
There’s a current in the air, a restless, anxious energy that nudges us to go faster, do more, keep up. And yet, for all that effort, many of us arrive at the end of the day feeling oddly depleted… and strangely unfinished.
Which is why I love a simple teaching from Tai Chi that continues to stop me in my tracks (ironically, by slowing me down). It comes from teacher Colin Snow, simply:
“Move below the speed of habit.”
What a line.
Living fast is a habit. A patterned response shaped by fear, pressure, and the quiet belief that if we slow down, something might fall apart.
And yes, speed can get us places more quickly. But it also has a way of escorting us right past our lives.
The invitation here isn’t dramatic. No need to relocate to a monastery or adopt an exclusively slow-motion lifestyle.
It’s much simpler - and sneakier - than that.
It might look like one conscious breath.
A small pause.
A gentle noticing: What’s happening in me right now?
Thoughts. Feelings. Sensations. All waiting, patiently, for our attention. We call this space Presence - an intentional, relaxed, alert way of being. Not something we have to create, but something we drop into.
It lives just beneath the speed of habit. Like a quiet current under choppy water.
And here’s the paradox: this state is not only more peaceful - it’s often more effective. Because it’s connected to a deeper knowing. A wiser rhythm. The Divine moving through rather than us pushing against.
So the next time you notice yourself rushing - body tight, mind spinning - I invite you to experiment:
Take a breath.
Downshift.
Slip just below your speed of habit.
See what’s there. It may be the smallest shift you make all day... and the one that changes everything.
And don’t be surprised if life, relieved that you finally slowed down enough to notice, begins to meet you there.