There is Courage in Slow Progress

I am not a patient man. This admission may surprise some people, as I display an outward persona that is calm, reserved, and can wait for the opportune moment to arise.

That persona isn’t exactly a lie, but it isn’t quite the truth either.

I’ve faked patience because I wanted to become more patient, which I certainly have over the years. However, my mind’s default setting is - GET TO THE FINISH LINE AS QUICKLY AS POSSIBLE! This mindset has caused more than a few problems in my life.

“Speed kills” is the coaching philosophy that I grew up with, and it’s fantastic advice for just about every sport. Being faster than your opponent usually means you can get by them with less effort than it takes them to guard you. There is also a mental speed in every sport. The faster you think, the more you can outmaneuver your opponent. This is why my high school coach drilled the mentality of “if you make a mistake, make it at a million miles per hour.” He did not care if we screwed up. He worried that we’d screw up because of mental insecurity and fear.

There is something to be said about going full-bore and emptying your tank in pursuit of a goal. I used to think that was the only way to train. In kickboxing and jiu-jitsu I would go right to my limit in every class. Just wailing on the pads or attempting to perfectly drill a new technique. I’d be completely drained by the end of the class.

When I first starting officiating high school lacrosse, one of my mentors and evaluators, Eric Rudolph, told me to slow down because I was sprinting everywhere. Later he would tell me that I was the only official he ever had to tell to slow down, but it was important advice for a person charged with keeping a game safe — you simply do not think as efficiently when going all out compared to a more moderate pace.

I used to watch the channel G4, predominately a gaming review channel, but it also showed unusual competitions from Japanese game shows. One of my favorites combined Ninja Warrior with cognitive challenges. After racing through several obstacles, boosting the competitor’s hear rate and narrowing their mental focus, a racer would stand over a pool of water and a math problem would be displayed on a screen. Three buttons were laid out in front of the competitor that corresponded to three possible answers. If they didn’t answer within a few seconds, a trap door would open under their feet, and they would plunge into the frigid waters.

I laughed hysterically at people who effortlessly maneuvered through difficult obstacles, only to be stymied by how ineffective their mind worked after doing so. Really, (6x8-2=?) is not a challenging problem, but try answering it in five seconds after sprinting a lap around a track and the difficulty bar gets raised significantly.

Most of my life I held the mentality that finishing fast was better than just finishing - the “Ricky Bobby mindset”, plus the military mentality of - “second place is the first loser.”

Fantastic mindsets if you have to win a race or take a hill, but rarely is it the best way to approach the activities of daily living.

There is a reason why we tell kids the story of The Tortoise and the Hare. We want to instill in them the idea that it is okay to go slow, so long as you don’t stop. Relentless forward progress may be a mile one day, and half an inch the next day.

Being a depressive who also wants to go fast in everything I do is a strange dichotomy to live with. I want to bolt out of bed every day, push my limits in every workout, get all my work projects done, cook healthy meals, read an entire book, and type up an article full of insight. My depression wants to keep me in bed, trudge through a workout (or not do it at all), get no work done, eat cruddy food, substitute a book for YouTube, and question why writing is important to me.

Between these two extremes of thought is a middle ground where progress is slower, yet measurable. I hate that middle ground. I want the fast option! But it is rarely wise to rush through anything, and much of my therapy over the past ninety days has been about enjoying the process for what it is. Yesterday I tested my mind by going for a run/walk. I hate needing to walk when I go on a run, but my cardiovascular system is not up for running five miles at the moment. I ran a mile, walked half a mile, and ran a mile. Before I knew it, I was nearly three miles away from my apartment. I knew I could still run, but I chose to walk the three miles back because my mind needs more training than my body.

It was cold, wet, and windy. I was uncomfortable, and I wanted to be at my front door instantaneously, but I persisted in being slow. This was a deliberate rebellion against the default impatience of my mind. Once I pushed through the uncomfortable mental space, I wound up relishing how uncomfortable I was. Yes, it was cold, but I saw four different dogs! Yes, I got rained on, but I noticed how colorful some blooming trees and flowers were. Yes, it was windy, but I got to watch the Chattahoochee river swell and the geese meander down the water.

I wanted to run several times during this walk. Then I gave myself a gentle reminder that a little progress is still a lot of progress. I kept myself slow, and I learned that it takes more effort and courage to go along the path mindfully than it does to race along it without noticing a thing.