go slow.

New York City is wired to be fast, in every sense of the word. Slow is not in our vocabulary, or in our preferences. You come here because you want bigger, brighter, bolder. You come to live and work and breathe productivity.

Slow is not an option.

Oftentimes, the word fast also comes with the word impatient. We've all been there, mostly because we live in a world that offers instant gratification in so many cases. But lately, I feel like I've been practicing the art of passing time. I've been learning the value of slowing down, and let me tell you, it's not an easy thing to learn.

I hate waiting.

I  hate waiting for the same reason I hate not having control.

I don't like not knowing the outcome. 

I don't like feeling like I'm waiting for something better. 

I want the reward now. 

More than this though, I want the feelings that come with the reward. I want to feel happy, healthy, whole, full of everything good. And when I feel the stress, when I feel the discomfort that comes with life moving slowly, I can't tolerate it. It freaks me out.

We all fear that the season we  are in will be permanent. That things won't change, that we in fact will  stay the same forever. But if there is one thing I know about life to be true it's that change is perhaps the only constant there is--that saying goes all the way back to the ancient philosophers of Greece, so it's backed up by centuries to prove  it. 

Life promises us change, no matter how slowly it may come, or how difficult it may be to wait for us.

I find it one of the greatest ironies that as people, we both loathe and yearn for change. 

We are rather inflexible creatures.

So, what do we do when we are moving so slowly we fear we are stuck? What do we do when we think we are doomed to suffer the season we are in indefinitely? When we can't imagine how to begin to get the change we are seeking? 

What if change wasn't the outcome but the process?

What if instead of letting the slowness slowly suffocate us, we use the opportunity to slowly change ourselves, our way of being?

Here's what I know: change produces perseverance, and perseverance, character.

Sound familiar? 

There's hardly anything new under the sun that hasn't been taught before.

It's just when we choose to learn and acknowledge it.

And that's important.

I'm trying to pay attention to the season I'm in. I'm trying to sit in it, really let my roots grow down deep. I'm resisting the urge to squirm and wriggle my way out of it, I'm resisting the urge to complain.

It. Is. So. Hard.

It is so natural for us to want better for ourselves. To want the best. 

Especially in NYC. The best is what we are known for. Dreams are made here. 

But you have to be willing to fight for them.

So really, fighters are made here.

Change is born here.

Change is, and always will be, a process. It doesn't come easy, it isn't quick, and it certainly won't be comfortable. 

I am choosing to embrace this slow race even though I can't see the finish line.

I will not give up.

I will not stop running.

Instead, I will look for ways to change the race.

I will look for ways to grow right here, right now. To train my soul and my body, to become a better runner, a runner who is focused, present, and strong. 

Long distance means pacing yourself.

It means being excellent in the moment.

It means paying attention to the process, not the prize.

It may even mean the the process is the prize.

And if that's the case--I don't want to miss it. 

I don't want to wake up and realize I was running towards the wrong thing.

An elusive thing, an idea of what I feel should be the prize.

So these days, I'm running. Slowly, with purpose. I'm trying to mind my pace because I know there is merit to be found in the training process. 

It's OK to go slow. 

Don't rush and miss what's happening in and around you. 

They are both of insurmountable value. 

Because change is happening, whether or not you can see it, whether or not you can feel it. 

So, move towards a change you want to see.

Not one that happens to you. 

Go slow.

Stay aware. 

Keep running.

Slow and steady wins the race.

And hope is always, always right around the corner.