You’ve got to go slow to go fast.
~Tom Dorrance
We live in a world obsessed with speed, yet the things that shape us, the things that last, cannot be rushed. Life continues to remind me that slowness is not a flaw in the process; it is the process.
I’ve been told I ride my horses too fast, implying that it is wrong. I can ride fast; however, do I ride them too fast? No. I ride them at the pace they can maintain comfortably without compromise. What most people don’t know is how long it took to reach that pace. Sheba, my current mare, came to me with what is called race brain. Meaning she wanted to go fast with little focus. What she lacked was not ability, it was the grounded awareness that only time and trust can build.
What I have learned with horses is that speed without presence is chaos, wasting valuable energy. Presence without patience is impossible.
For nearly two years, I rode Sheba slowly in the back or middle of the group. It achieved what was intended; I retrieved her mind. At that point, her training could start.
This paradox is woven through universal human wisdom. Slowness is not the opposite of progress; it is the foundation of it.
An ancient Roman principle attributed to Emperor Augustus: Festina Lente: Make haste slowly. Or, Slow is smooth, and smooth is fast —a US Navy SEAL’s motto. implying that a smooth, deliberate process will result in greater speed.
Society has rewards for those who are quick to accomplish. And many of us feel compelled to follow suit. However, horses once again taught me that to go fast, I must first go slowly.
The lesson isn’t limited to horses or history. It shows up in human tasks everywhere.
Why does any of this matter, really? Some of us are just faster than others, right? During high school, I was enthralled by the author Carlos Castaneda, who wrote a series of books about shamanic training. He received his education under the tutelage of a Yaqui “Man of Knowledge” named don Juan Matus.
I don’t recall which of his many books it was in, but there was a story about a student who was instructed to lay a path of stones. When the teacher returned, he informed the student that many of the stones were in the wrong positions, some were upside down, and others were back to front. The instruction was to slow down to read the stones. Confused, but he persisted in laying them out until it was deemed correct. The stones were never the point; the attention was.
This story still sticks with me, and I notice it in the way I do or don’t do things. Sometimes I do work in haste; does it yield the best results? Not always, but sometimes adequate is all I need. Yet when it comes to training my horse, I know I inexplicably need to take the time to build the foundation if I want a horse to stay sound and healthy. To rush the process could yield a few good wins, only to be followed by injury or worse.
Many of us get impatient. Our attention has become fragmented, flitting from one thing to the next before anything can take root. We move so quickly, we rarely notice what we have missed. Even when writing an article, the recommended length is no longer than a 3-4-minute read. Most people won’t read it to the end if it is longer.
I get it; I am impatient too. Yet when we stop rushing toward the imaginary, generally self-imposed finish line, we rediscover the quiet richness of simply being where we are.
The space between the steps is where presence lives.
If we allow ourselves to linger here, we may find it holds everything we’ve been hurrying to reach. To be present, each step my horse takes, whether it is a training ride or a 100-mile race. To sit with a blank page and be at ease when nothing comes. Or to pick up a book and get lost in it, oblivious to the speed at which the world is turning around us,
Taking the time it takes is where many of us get stuck. Our expectations want us to hurry up and get to the end; instead of enjoying the journey, we want the finale. Perhaps the invitation to becoming is to simply slow down enough to meet your own life.
Slowing down is sometimes the best way to speed up.
~Mike Vance
