I overuse the word hurry. From pressuring my three-year-old to move faster to self-expressing my need for things to develop quicker, I throw the word around freely and frequently.
But what happens when we hurry? We lose focus.
Our hurry often turns to worry. Did we turn off the lights? Will I make it in time? Did I go a good enough job?
Endless questions often fill our heads and consume our hearts as we shuffle through responsibilities or daily agendas.
I don’t do well with spontaneous recollection or rejuvenation. Both require me to slow down, which is challenging when I live my life on one speed. Often, my speed is directed by or predicated on the mood of two tiny humans who awake ready to conquer the world at 6:30 a.m.
Most days I tell people I’m the conductor of the hot mess express. But guess what? This hot mess express fears I’m missing something or someone in my peripheral path.
Hurrying isn’t comfortable so why is it status quo? It might be due to lack of planning. It’s possible it’s due to disorganization. Or, it might be to fulfill what’s become status quo. It’s popular to be busy. It’s standard to be rushed.
So much of my hurrying is empty. Wherever I’m rushing isn’t my dream. Whatever I’m doing isn’t my best. In essence, I don’t find deep joy or self-satisfaction in hurrying.
So in the spirit of fulfillment, here’s my daily plea for fika. Slow down. Let the threenager painstakingly ascend the stairs only to slide down them. Don’t fear the calendar but coordinate the chaos. Take the time to ask questions, seek out conversation, and foster sound writing.
Don’t be a blur. Refuse emptiness.
When I made an effort to be slower, which feels weird to write, I discover remarkable preexisting treasures in my life. Swing by tomorrow to read about my latest epiphany and the impact it’s having on my fika, friendships, and passions.