Playing Catch-up

A case for slowing life down.

How can one month feel like an eternity, with the days dragging on, and yet, pass us by so fast that we barely have time to notice a full 31 days have already gone by? We have yet to plan the new year, declutter our closets, book trips, catch up with friends, set goals and clear our inbox. January came and went at full speed, with no mercy for our unfinished business in 2022. It paid no attention to the half-written list of goals that I didn’t finish because I was too busy procrastinating. I look around and the people in my life have plans to achieve and milestones to hit. Some are getting engaged, some are graduating school. Some have careers to grow and humans to raise.

I get sucked into the Social Media vortex and buy the idea that some got it all figured out. Meanwhile, I feel like I got to the bar late, have several rounds to catch up on and I’m getting drunk too fast. It’s the constant grind. The culture of achievement and self-improvement that has us wrapped around its finger. It’s the sensation that if we haven’t done or seen or accomplished or overcome something by the time society expects us to, then we’re out of the game. We’re obviously not doing things right.

As I think about the books I told myself to read by the end of January and are still sitting on my nightstand, unfinished, I get a familiar feeling of defeat. It’s the same feeling I got when all my friends were getting married while I was thinking of ending my relationship. When I hit thirty and people would ask when I was having kids. When the market was just right, and I didn’t snatch the opportunity to buy a house.

Maybe it’s just me and the end of January just caught me off guard. I didn’t make any interesting life plans. I didn’t book any travel. I didn’t write any new poems. All I did in January was feel like I was running out of time. The first month of the year was one of high expectations — some set by myself, some dictated by society — my brain was overwhelmed. My mind kept desperately asking for time alone, in silence, but in the rare occasions when I was physically alone, I wasn’t quite sure what to do. The rush in my head didn’t stop.

This fast start to 2023 seems to be a bigger metaphor for my life. Do I really have to live this fast and this much all at once? When the world seems to be spinning at double-speed, it’s easy to forget what I have already accomplished. I have invested my time and money in traveling the world. I have committed to my writing. I have a fitness routine. I have a good credit score. I take care of my physical and mental health. Yet, I can’t shake the imaginary burden that I’m running out of time.

The anxiety that I get from living in a world that’s always in a hurry is accompanied by the guilt of not doing enough – or not doing the right things with my time. Very similar to the religious guilt of making sure we do enough good deeds to get into heaven and always remembering we’re not worthy of it, this secular guilt of a rushed world demands that we’re constantly showing proof of our accomplishments for a chance to be worth it.

As I type these words, I realize it’s past noon and I’ve missed my own deadline to post this essay. I think about how I’ve been writing about this in my head all week, but just now put pen to paper…or rather, fingers to keyboard. I notice I’ve been starving, but second-guess stopping to have lunch because I’m running out of time. I laugh at myself a little because I realize, once again, I feel like I’m playing catch up. I find myself in the slow lane of the high-speed highway of immediacy, with a car that can’t seem to go fast enough.

So how do we slow down? Alexandra, from My Slow World, has figured out some helpful tips. She advises us to be there for ourselves and “trust the path we’re walking”. She reminds us to be mindful of what we consume and to pay attention to the little things.

Earlier this week I received a postcard from France. Someone I met in December, and with whom I spent a delightful Christmas holiday, took the time to write and send a thank you note by mail — not a WhatsApp message or a quick email—. The hand-written note was the perfect catalyst to break from the hasty spell I was in and remind me that special things (and moments) can take time.

This month I want to slow down. My plans include slow mornings and moments of retreat. I want to have enough time to read, and write, and think. I want to have profound conversations with the people I like the most. I want to spend the afternoons putting puzzles together with my boyfriend as we listen to podcasts at normal speed. I want to make time for my friends, and for them to make time for me, and laugh and dance with them till we drop. I want to know that this life can be (and is indeed) enough, and not feel guilty about it.