Hurry and the Illusion of Control

For as long as I can remember, our community has taken the first week of the year to fast and intentionally seek the face of God. This year, because I felt like God was calling me to abide in him, I decided to take that week to practice the discipline of slowness. Practically, this meant minimizing multitasking. If I made breakfast while my daughter watched, I didn’t listen to an audiobook at the same time. If I was running late to a meeting, I let myself be late. If I drove somewhere, I did my best to drive the speed limit. And if on the off chance I had to go to the grocery store, I didn’t pick the shortest line.  

At first, it sounded ridiculous. After all, when people are fasting from tangible, measurable things like food or social media, what does mean to fast from hurry? But if you ever want to know how badly you struggle with hurry, try eliminating it.

I am a naturally hurried individual. I scramble to make breakfast, rush to get to my desk, race to get to the gym, and hurry to get home. Sometimes I think it’s because I enjoy the rush of running late and trying to make the impossible happen, but I think there’s more to it than that. Often at the heart of my hurry is the belief I am not enough. Perhaps, if I could get more things done, I will be seen as legitimate in the eyes of my peers. I will be seen as worthy in the eyes of God. As an enneagram type 2, this has always been a struggle for me (I am what others think of me) but having a child has made this all the more complex.

The birth of our daughter has shown me, time and again, my life is not my own. Faced with your own powerlessness, you can respond one of a two ways. You can lie down and admit defeat, or you can grasp at whatever you can to regain control. Hurry has been my attempt at the latter.

Often, I find, hurry is less about pace and more about posture. I don’t know if I’m moving faster as much as I just think that I am. But in hurrying a vicious cycle begins. I’m anxious because I’m hurried, and I hurry because I’m anxious. Slowing down interrupts that cycle. It’s literally impossible to be anxious about getting to your destination on time when you’re driving the speed limit.

This has become especially real to me the past couple of days. I feel myself being overcome with hurry again, the familiar lack of control and reactive grasps. In that place, I sense God’s invitation to slow down and be reminded once again that who I am and what I’m worth is not contingent on what I can produce. To sit in the reality that, for all my frenetic activity, neither worry nor hurry adds a single hour to my life. What would it be to live in the conscious awareness of God’s presence? To be awake to the gift of each moment? Perhaps it’s only possible when we slow down long enough to receive it.