I remember running downhill as a child. With gravity pulling on my little legs, I could move faster. It was such a rush, throwing my feet forward, faster and faster until inevitably, the crash would come. Tumbling, skinning knees and bending limbs into unnatural positions. I tried it again and again with the forgiveness of my elastic young body until I grew tired of losing control. Youth affords us the buffer of making mistakes with speed. We test the edges, step over the boundaries until time makes us less flexible.
Speed is a sort of cultural badge of honor. It is a state of being that has been so sold to us that we have taken it on as a core value. To move faster, to be more productive, to accomplish, to experience more. Speed is almost synonymous with success. We are told to keep up or risk falling behind. Falling behind often means falling from grace. Falling behind is almost shameful. Capitalist culture rewards the speed seekers. Sink or swim. Burn in a blaze of glory or get left behind. Life has seemingly become a sort of foot race: an all out sprint that doesn’t reward second place. It is no wonder that we feel such a sense of urgency. It is as if our lives depend upon it. We have come to believe that we need to chase, gather and hunt every thing on the horizon. That we need to move faster and faster if we want to compete. If we choose not to compete we move from predator to prey. Those are the options: To eat or be eaten. To move faster or to fall.
Speed is also a rush. We hurry because it releases adrenaline. We push the accelerator, feeling almost like a god that can ride the wind. Going fast is risky: there is the possibility of the crash and burn. Even the slightest miscue or turn of the steering wheel can lead to disaster. The people who move the fastest, the race car drivers, the jet pilots, the base jumpers are all living on borrowed time. Right there on the edge of thrill and mistake. In the modern world we have smooth pavement so we can go faster, and speed bumps to slow us down. We have horsepower to move us swiftly, and brakes to bring us to a halt. We put brakes on cars not so much to slow us down, but to make it so we can go faster. Without brakes, we would move more slowly. When we surround ourselves with things that protect us from the consequences of our speed, we lose sight of how dangerous going fast can be. We insulate, we distract, we hide behind our shells like knights in the most impervious suits of armor.
Even when we rest we tend to be in motion. Our “down time” involves binge watching shows, gathering more data, or filling up our social calendars. We browse to know more; to be informed. It is almost like we want to be ready, just in case of an impromptu trivia contest. Real stillness doesn’t come from slamming on the brakes. It is an invitation, not an edict. It exists in awareness. When we slow down enough, we remember that we have always been aware, but we are not always aware that we are aware. Instead of rushing towards some imaginary finish line, we see every moment as an opportunity to explore presence. But stillness doesn’t often come by accident. Just as we must plan for our busyness, we need to schedule in down time. We need to plan for relaxation that is organic and spacious. This is where a regular meditation practice and receiving regular healing work can be a true gift. It is an invitation to discover the spaciousness that always exists between the movement. It is a recognition that life is always happening between all of the comings and goings.
