Whole Life Times: Life in the Slow Lane

January 2006 | BackWords

Life in the Slow Lane

By Betsy S. Franz

I used to run late as a matter of course. I always got up at an hour I thought was early enough, but by the time I made it to the car, I found myself slamming the accelerator to the floor in an attempt to compensate for the five or 10 minutes I’d somehow lost. Scenery blurred as I played chicken with the traffic lights, keeping my mental radar on high alert for patrol cars.

This constant rushing extended into other aspects of my life. I approached grocery shopping like the winner of a five-minute shopping spree, racing up and down the aisles—I took corners with my cart on two wheels and barked my deli order to the startled woman behind the counter. At the mall, I sped through stores like an entrant in the hundred-yard dash. No window-shopping for me—I’d planned my route before I’d even walked through the door, and neither rain nor sleet nor an unexpected sale at Macy’s could keep me from my self-appointed rounds. I felt compelled to rush; there just weren’t enough hours in the day, and if I didn’t hurry up, I might miss something.

And then one fateful morning, I ran out of gas. Running behind (once again), I had ignored my plummeting gas gauge. As I steered my coasting car off the road, I looked at my watch and smacked the steering wheel. Now what? I panicked. I’ve got a meeting in 15 minutes and I haven’t even planned my notes yet! But as I got out of my car, I noticed an amazing thing: To the east, the sun was beginning to blaze over the horizon. A misty fog hung over the water, and ducks cut smooth trails reflected in the glassy surface. A couple of sailboats sat bobbing at anchor, and as the sun inched up through tiny trails of clouds that stretched across the sky, it seemed to shout with all its beauty and strength, “Behold world! I have risen, again, for another day!"

I was awe-struck. My God! I thought. Do you mean to tell me that this glorious scene has been unfolding outside my car every morning and I’ve never taken the time to see it? I had been rushing around in such a hurry not to miss anything, that I had been missing... well, everything.

I turned back toward the traffic whizzing by at breakneck speed. I wanted to shout at the drivers, “Stop! Look what’s happening here! You’re missing it!” But instead, I climbed on the hood of my car and quietly, joyfully, patiently sat watching the sun paint a brand new day.

By the time a co-worker happened by and recognized my car, I was a different person. My heart, my mind and my soul all felt lighter. I reluctantly left the scene of my transformation to go to work, jealous that my car got to stay behind with the ducks and the sailors in the bright sunshine.

From that day forward, my life slowed from a fast jitterbug to a fluid waltz. I took time to see the people I work with and to talk to them about things other than work. To notice if they were particularly happy or troubled and to see if they needed to tell me why.

I began taking long, slow walks around my yard and neighborhood, introducing myself to all the mysteries and wonders that had been right there all along, patiently waiting for me to notice. I began to hear entire symphonies all around me: birds singing, wind blowing, leaves rustling. And as I continued to immerse myself in my newfound peace, I discovered, to my amazement, another sound: the “still, small voice” deep inside my soul. This voice said incredible things, recognized beauty where I hadn’t seen it before and shared a steady stream of insight, inspiration and encouragement.

For years I had hammered at life, racing furiously, never realizing the finish line I was striving for was exactly where I was. Now I’ve traded in my hamster’s wheel for a hammock, and am sometimes quite content to lay on my back and spend an entire afternoon gazing at clouds. Somehow, incredibly enough, the world is still turning—it didn’t need my feverish momentum after all.

I’ll admit that sometimes I’m a few minutes late to work. I take forever in the grocery store and I can whittle away an afternoon window-shopping and people watching. But my life is no longer passing me by. I am here, fully present, engaged in every instant as it unfolds before me. Joyfully, peacefully, patiently traveling life in the slow lane... and enjoying each precious moment.

Betsy Franz is a freelance writer whose work emphasizes the importance of treating ourselves, each other and the planet with kindness. Her book, The Wildlife Habitat Journal: Restoring and Exploring Wildlife Habitat In Your Own Backyard is available from lulu.com/content/101159.

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