Quitting the Race…Oh! And What the Tortoise and the Hare Didn't Teach You
"She takes her time, but does it right," quoted directly from my Fifth Grade report card.
I’m not convinced they meant this as a compliment because what I heard in my head when I read that as a 10-year-old is this, "She is slow." Despite my being fairly consistent with earning As and Bs on said report cards, I was fully aware, even then, that I worked slow. Good grades didn't come easy to me, and so I had to take my time if I wanted to do things well.
To this day, I carry that mental weight with me and worry that I'm moving or working too slowly, and I'll miss some opportunity because of it, like those times I missed recess because of not being finished with my work.
I've heard it said that my pace is not their pace, and it would do me well to accept it, but it can be blindingly frustrating feeling like I'm never quite fast enough, always lagging behind in one way or another.
And so, I keep running in this race we call life, hoping I'll someday catch up.
I keep running because that's what I've been taught to do, what I have to do if I want to be successful.
"I have to work hard. I have to produce. I have to be well-liked. I have to keep up or I will miss my opportunity. I have to beat out the competition, and everyone is my competition. I couldn't possibly be fast enough or good enough on my own merit. Their success means I will never succeed. It means I failed because they got there first."
These are the voices in my head, and they keep me running.
You would think that I would have endless patience for my toddler because I'm used to my own slow pace, but too many times, I find myself nearly dragging her places or adding the word “quickly” to every request even when we don’t need to be in a hurry, simply out of habit.
I rush her to make decisions about what she’ll wear to school in less time than it would take me as a mostly sane and mature adult. I rush her to eat her food so we can be off to the next thing on the never-ending to-do list. I even rush her off to bed because then I get to steal a little bit more time to get more of the things done without her distracting me.
And I realize as I'm writing this, I rush her more often than not because I don't want to get more behind myself, putting my own impossible standards and expectations on her, and of course, I don't want to do that.
And yet, I keep running.
I need rest, but I can't do that either because the shame and guilt from allowing myself to rest or sleep when "there's so much to be done and I'm so behind," keeps me awake at night.
Too many times, I have so much to do that I can't make space in my schedule for friends; I forget to text them back or end up having to cancel because I've forgotten yet another thing that seems more important and will perhaps get me further, faster in the long run.
And even if I could make time for friendship and rest, I couldn't possibly create the mental space that's needed for them. Even if my body slows down, my mind does not.
My mind keeps running.
But every so often, I see glimpses of the person that I want to be. She's unrushed, composed, affable, and knows how to lead people at their own pace, on their own journey without being sucked in to their chaos or lost in her own. She cares nothing about winning the race because she knows she'll get there when she gets there. No need to rush. She embraces is her pace, however fast or slow.
She embodies the nickname her grandfather gave her when she was a kid: Queen of Serenity.
That's my true self, not this rushed, half-crazed marathon runner who has to be Number One.
I know this. And yet, I keep running…at a slow pace because, like I said, that is my pace no matter how much I have willed it to change.
My husband takes long, quick strides when he walks. Add in that he's destination-minded, and I am journey-minded typically, and it's a recipe for me falling behind all the time. It took me several years to be able to say, "please slow down, I can't keep up," but I would feel guilty because I didn't want to slow him down.
And he would say to me, "I may get there quicker without you, but I will go further with you."
And this is how I'm starting to see community, how I want to see community.
There are times when I just can’t keep up, and there's no chance of me winning whatever figurative race I've gotten myself into, and I wonder if it's worth it to keep striving, to keep running like this.
Other times, I have to slow down for the sake of others, and sure, I'd rather be writing or doing something I can label as productive. I don't want to get more behind than I already feel that I am. I would certainly reach the finish line quicker if I didn't have to deal with the messes other people create or that we create together.
Making time for the people in our lives is disruptive, but I know they're worth it and so am I.
I see how much I need others. I can get lost in a spiral of introspection or self-deprecation or striving, and I need someone to pull me out.
And they need me, too.
And I wonder if instead of continuing to compete in this race, maybe it would be of better service to me, to my family, friends, and the world if I…maybe…just…slowed…down.
Recently, I've come to appreciate and perhaps even enjoy my plodding tempo because it reminds me to look around, notice the beauty in places and in the people there. It allows me to feel their feelings with them and hold space for them when they need an unrushed, listening ear.
And this requires me to stop running. And walk.
Chances are fairly high that you’ve heard this story, but in case you haven’t, here’s a quick recap. An overconfident hare challenges a tortoise to a race. The tortoise accepts the challenge. In its overconfidence, the hare gets tired and decides it has time to take a nap but oversleeps, and so the tortoise wins. One moral of this story is “slow and steady wins the race.”
We’re taught that we should be like the tortoise who was steady and steadfast and kept moving when everyone was sure he couldn't possibly win.
But here’s the thing. Life isn’t about winning, not for me, not anymore. Admittedly, it used to be.
Yet now, I’m tired of feeling isolated. I’m tired of trying to keep a pace I can’t possibly keep anymore, and I am tired of feeling alone despite being surrounded by other people.
I don’t want to run anymore.
I don't want to be in a race anymore. I’m not interested in trying to win because when my focus is on winning, I lose focus on the most important thing—love.
And letting go of that drive to win has lead me to noticing. Noticing others, seeing them as human just like myself and not as opponents.
Who is running beside of me? Maybe slightly ahead or slightly behind, but they’re close. And what would happen if we chose to walk together.
I have found life to be far more beautiful when I’m walking beside of someone who loves and cares for me and who I can love and care for as well.
Sometimes, finding those people takes slowing down enough to notice. Notice that person lagging behind, all it takes is looking slightly over your shoulder and you'll see them there, and if you look up, you may see someone slightly ahead of you who is probably just as lonely.
Call out to them. Maybe they’ll slow down, too.
And so what if we never win? What is the prize anyway? I can’t imagine much worth winning that would be more precious than loving community.
This doesn’t mean I’m giving up on life, just the running through it, the running that keeps us from seeing the things that are of most value.
So I'm choosing to embrace my pace. I choose to stop running the race and instead I am walking the rest of my life's journey with others in loving community.
And I encourage you to do the same.
After all, We may get there quicker without each other, but we will go further together.
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