I spend a fair amount of time on Ontario’s highways, which is why I’m also pretty familiar with its rest stops. At one of its OnRoute locations (think gas, donuts, bathrooms), there’s a sign advising cars to move “Dead Slow”. Aside from its somewhat morbid message—and the fact that, as far as I know, the dead don’t move at all—the sign raises a question I think is worth exploring. Namely: how fast do you normally go?

For many of us, the answer is: as fast as possible. Let’s face it, there’s a lot to do. Errands to run, appointments to keep, kids to ferry to and fro. It gets especially hectic this time of year—in addition to balancing the day-to-day, there’s shopping, and decorating the house, and making food, and replacing all the bottles of wine you keep going through to stave off thoughts of spending quality time with your parents…

Point being, we’re busy. And while we may make time to smell the coffee, we probably aren’t making time to sit around and slowly savour a few cups. Time is money, baby. It flies whether or not you’re having fun. There’s none to spare, there’s none to kill, and I can’t wait here all day.

The fear factor

There’s also a fear factor associated with slowing down. Oddly enough, when we aren’t busy, it gets harder to justify our existence. I’ve always liked how Tom Kreider explained it in his New York Times essay, “The Busy Trap”. In his words, “Busyness serves as a kind of existential reassurance, a hedge against emptiness; obviously your life cannot possibly be silly or trivial or meaningless if you are so busy, completely booked, in demand every hour of the day.”

So here we are, there we were, filling up all the empty spaces of our calendars, running around, slotting things in, living our lives in heart-pounding, caffeine-fueled, jet-propelled, adrenaline junkie, run-the-yellow increments of go, go, go! Not a lot of space in that kind of day for moving dead slow, is there?

I’ll take door #2

Let’s talk about the three-toed sloth. Aside from being frickin’ adorable, the sloth is apparently the world’s slowest mammal. It moves at about 10 feet per minute, sleeps for 15 or 20 hours a day, and is so sedentary that algae actually grow on its fur. I urge you to Google some pics of the creature—they’re always smiling.

I got to thinking about the sloth the other day in yoga class when the instructor challenged us to “practice being in no rush”. Hmm. He didn’t say slow down. He didn’t say to stay in the moment. He said to practice being in no rush. And it occurred to me, in that moment, that not rushing really does have to be something you practice, because it sure isn’t going to come naturally.

What does a practice of not rushing look like? Well, for one, it’s not as sedentary as my three-toed friend. Not rushing doesn’t imply doing nothing. It means doing whatever you have to do consciously, deliberately, and with awareness. When you’re in no rush, you still accomplish things. You just accomplish them without inducing a heart attack. It might mean it takes me longer to get dinner on the table, but it also means I’m not going to burn my food or cut my finger off slicing vegetables. It might mean sitting in traffic a bit longer, but it also means I’ll get to where I’m going without a ticket or an accident.

For another thing, not rushing allows me to enjoy the scenery along the way. And I don’t just mean stopping to smell the roses. I mean really noticing what’s happening around me—a state of being that not only allows me to remain aware, but that also makes it less likely that I’ll miss emerging opportunities by blasting past them at 140 mph.

And, for yet another thing, not rushing fosters connection. It allows me to be in a conversation and pay attention to what the person I’m talking to is saying, rather than mentally hurrying them along so I can share my scintillating point of view, or grab the last canapé, or head across the room to pretend to listen to someone else who looks more interesting. Who knows? If I take my time to listen to other people, I may actually learn something new, make a new friend, change my mind. Crazier things have happened.

I’m not saying to be slothful. Aside from it being one of the seven deadly sins (see? Even God was in a rush!), algae is decidedly not the new black. But I am saying there’s a lot to learn from creatures and people and signs that warn us not to move too fast. We only get to go around this crazy carny ride once. I, for one, want to take the time to hear all the music, eat all the candy, and wander all the paths along the way.