My husband is not a hurrier, and I am learning that this is not such a bad thing. He takes his time, takes things easy most of the time, and knows when to take a nap. I, on the other hand, have spent many seasons rushing from one thing to the next. At some point it became a default setting for me — a program running even in the mundane, day-to-day. So hurried, it would have been impossible to be present enough in any moment to fully enjoy it.
I have also had seasons of being apologetic about not being able to do more, and then much more. Seasons where I was already fully exhausting my bandwidth as a person, a creative, a wife, a mum, an entrepreneur, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a mentor, an employer and an employee — but still bending out of shape to fit something else into every spare moment of the day.
It is shocking that anyone would endorse, even applaud, this way of living. More shocking is the fact that most of us choose to live that way. I look back now and I see the error of my ways. I would go through a whole day without sitting down except momentarily. I would go on a guilt hike if I ever allowed myself anything as frivolous as entertainment. On the outside, it would appear I was being driven by productivity — even when I was being creative — but sincerely, most times the driver was guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t doing enough.
I am in my era of learning to live at a slower pace. With this comes the need to learn myself: to understand why I do what I do and act the way I act; to really analyse why I believe what I believe. I have been on this journey for the larger part of six years. My soon-to-be-released book, Rest in 3 Dimensions, explores my learning and experiences around True Rest — rest in, and of, mind, body and spirit — as well as the necessity of it.
I haven’t always been a hurrier. I have the temperament of a happy-go-lucky, joyful, exuberant, extroverted youth. Somewhere along the line of adulting, I appear to have learned behaviour powered by perceived pressure. Much of it could be attributed to societal pressure, then a fraction to cultural expectations, another fraction to religious doctrine, and then to untamed comparison. Could becoming a mummy — having so much more to juggle, and the added pressure and responsibility of nurturing young minds — be another culprit? I say yes, it was. But there was also this overriding drive to be productive and performative. I felt an overwhelming need to prove a point.
I felt like a massive oak tree giving shelter to as many as would venture under my shade. However, I felt so encumbered, saddled with a desperate need for approval, for validation. My need for control was masked by anxiety. Like a tree stretching left and right for a glimpse of the sun, clutching at the earth for water.
Over the past year I had my first and second encounters with burnout. I would like to say I had no choice in the matter, but if I am to be completely honest with myself, I did, and I do. I have had to learn to recognise my own patterns of stress, my own stressors, my responses, and the ways that I can do better.
The most crucial part of that has been learning to slow down and adopt a slower pace. To not get riled up by the behaviour and choices of others, especially those I am unable to change. It has also meant not allowing myself to be sidetracked by the perceived achievements of others. It has been about learning contentment, and the fine art of being sincere.
A slower pace has meant more presence, appreciation, intentionality and purposefulness. It has meant understanding that it is okay to take care of myself. It is okay to love myself as much as I love others. It is also okay to fill up my cup, to take a moment to just be me, Matilda — not who I am to anyone, just me. It’s a cliché, but also a simple and profound truth: you cannot pour from an empty cup.
It’s interesting being a parent. I see how hurriedness could easily have become learned behaviour for my children. If they had continued to observe me rushing about — restless, always preparing for the next thing, unsettled, not fully present, always on edge — it wouldn’t have been surprising if they had borrowed my playbook. Fortunately, they favour the slower pace over frantic juggling.
I’m grateful that our Creator has designed us to be resilient beings with neuroplasticity. We can always wire, rewire, frame, reframe, program and reprogram our neural pathways. We can repair the wrong behaviour. We are well able to renew our minds by meditating on what is true.
The beautiful thing about marriage, outside of two becoming one, is how opposites mostly attract — and that when we humble ourselves, we truly can learn from and uplift each other. With time, there is a rubbing off on each other. As my husband is naturally inclined towards a slower pace, I can learn to slow down from him, as he can learn a little rushing from me — wink!
The Tension of Hurriedness
If we learn to understand human anatomy, physiology and psychology, we can clearly see and understand the impact of our behaviours. The focus of this conversation being hurriedness, we may learn the impact of being in a hurry and its effect on our spirit, soul and body. I would like to believe that learning to understand these patterns will help us live more intentionally, embrace better habits and slow down more.
Tension can be seen and felt in the body, and so can relaxation. We should much rather want the ease of rest and relaxation. Science and research now back the idea that restfulness precedes productivity — and not just any kind of productivity, but meaningful productivity. Science and research also back the idea that restfulness precedes creativity — and not just any kind of creativity, but the full kind.
Why Slow Down?
We should slow down in our relationships. First, in our relationship with ourselves; then with our loved ones, our friends and family. We must also consider the relationships we have with neighbours and colleagues — just how much we could all gain from one another by simply slowing down. I would even propose we stretch our consideration to encompass our relationships with strangers: all the people we come into contact with every now and again, be it randomly or intentionally. Can we slow down enough to recognise the moments that count more than we know? The underestimated effect of a sincere smile or a kind word?
Who we are in each moment counts just as much as what we say and how we say it; how we hear as well as how we listen; and how we respond, as well as whether we do so with love.
I am a bit concerned that this piece of writing refers to clichés too many times, but I find it needful to use them, so I hope you will appreciate their use in a similar respect. You may have heard it said that people do not remember what we did or said as much as they remember how we made them feel. My understanding is that when we embrace slowness and restfulness, we can become so much more intentional, more present and more conscious of what we contribute to the moments we are part of, the people we meet, and the measure of influence we can have.
Not in Conclusion
Without rambling any further, I’ll bring my musings to a close here. In response to the season I am in, and the ongoing realisation of why I truly must embrace slowness, I implore you to do the same — in order to fulfil purpose, enjoy life and enjoy people, while loving and living fully. We can have more meaningful expressions every day. We take for granted the meals we have, the places we go, the people we meet and the experiences that every day is laced with. But I dare you to take on this challenge with me: choose to start embracing stillness and enjoying slowness today.