Hurry, Slow

Recovery means giving up my agenda and trusting that recovery is attainable, while accepting that it might not come on my timeline.

Hurry, slow.

I learned this expression years ago. It was a phrase my dad’s beau, Willy, used, when they started seeing each other. In the relationship, Dad wanted everything yesterday. He was passionate, excited, and ultimately disappointed. It turned out to be a short-lived romance. On reflection, my father realized that he’d pushed too hard and wanted to move more quickly than Willy did. He wanted to define the relationship and nail down a commitment, as if that were a guarantee that they’d always be together. He wasn’t capable of staying in the moment, appreciating what he had with Willy. He couldn’t slow down. He tried to force what couldn’t be rushed. He pined for something that was really an illusion––a story he made up in his head––for years after it ended. Another way to not live in real time.

I loved the expression, “hurry, slow.” I’d never heard it before and had no idea of its origin. I assumed it was original; Willy’s inspiration. I didn’t know until I sat down to write that the origin of the expression has its roots in Latin: Festina Lente, and the translation is actually “hurry, slowly.” It contained zeal and gentleness at the same time. Restraint, but not restriction. There was a sense of savor that was implicit. I’d feel a rush of excitement when it would pop into my head. It was an invitation to stop and listen, stop and feel. To relish what was right before my eyes. “Hurry, slow” contained an energy that I understood more with my heart than with my head. The concept was hard to put into practice, because I lived more in my head than in my heart at the time. I loved the non-duality, the “and & both” of the expression.

Sometimes I would pause long enough to pay attention, to appreciate its wisdom. It would come to mind when situations arose that warranted my introspection. More often than not I’d resist the idea because it flew in the face of my need for immediate gratification, my impatience, my black and white thinking. My need for a quick fix in most things, because discomfort of any kind was intolerable. I lived in a space of “either/or” not “and & both,” letting my anxiety and impatience rule my actions. Anything I desired had to be granted NOW.

I’ve carried “hurry, slow” with me for 40 years. And though I’ve thought about it many times over the course of my life, its meaning has taken hold in my heart in a new way. It’s not just an intellectual idea anymore. A theory. As I walk my road to recovery, it’s ever present, especially in the last year.

I am recovering from disordered eating. When I look back at all the energy, time, and wishful thinking I devoted to weight loss plans, diets––both fad and somewhat sensible, over-exercising, and other eating disordered behaviors, I see that I wanted results in the same way my dad wanted his––yesterday. The illusion. I was so focused on what my life would be like in the future––when I would finally be some better version of myself––that I couldn’t see who I really was. I certainly wasn’t being kind. My worth as a human being was tied to my success at being a thin person. That was how I measured my value and desirability. The disordered eating was a symptom of my discomfort with myself, my disordered thoughts, my inability to cope with my feelings, or even to access them. In my 12 Step program, the reminder is always that it’s not about the food, it’s about the feelings. It’s about opening to something greater than myself, whether it’s a higher power, or the higher self that’s within me.

Recovery means surrendering to the length of time it takes to heal. It means giving up my agenda, and trusting that recovery is attainable, while accepting that it might not come on my timeline. I might have to wait for something I’ve wanted to force my whole life. And it has nothing to do with losing weight.

“Hurry, slow” brings up all kinds of feelings and questions. It speaks to living life with a proper balance of urgency, diligence, resilience, and patience. A willingness to sit with discomfort and remember that everything changes all the time. It’s a reminder that there’s no need to rush, and that if I do, I might miss something essential that I need to learn. It speaks to good self-care. It’s an invitation to stop and smell those roses or to look out my window at the end of each day to appreciate a sunset that’s always unique. To take a sip of lemonade––under-sweetened on purpose––so I can experience the tartness on my tongue and the astringent pucker that takes over my face. It’s a reminder that living in a future that’s yet to exist brings me nothing of value. It’s make-believe. Projecting into the future is a distraction from feeling what’s real. The value is right in front of me. Not too fast, not too slow.

I’ve looked for quick fixes for most of my life. It was inconceivable to me that I could be focused on the practice of appreciating each step along the way. Savor. I focused on the destination more than on the process of arriving at some goal. The time it took was intolerable. Instead of walking that fantasy straight line to the finish, I created mazes that I’d get lost in. I resisted those steps, equating them with suffering. I rushed through life, looking for shortcuts. The shortcuts that I would take made “getting there” ––wherever “there” is––take even longer. I spent a lot of time going in circles instead of understanding that all there is is now.

I’ve needed to accept that the work of healing is never a straight line to my desired result. It’s a process that’s uneven, bumpy––two steps forward, one step back––and resistance and challenges are bound to arise. How I choose to deal with those obstacles is up to me, and I don’t have to give those difficult feelings power.

The shortcuts made me confused, angry, and depressed. There is no secret formula. There’s no quick fix for being alive. The idea of “everything will be better when I” lose the weight, find love, get a degree, figure out what my purpose is, have the best car. All of that is beside the point.

“Hurry, slow” is about not forcing a result. It’s a commitment to living each moment in its entirety.

“Hurry, slow” helps me accept that I’m not in charge of when my recovery happens. I’m only in charge of my commitment to doing the work. All I can do is keep showing up, telling the truth, owning my shit, and letting go. It’s not magic. There’s work to do. Getting clear that healing from an eating disorder, any addiction, or a behavior that doesn’t serve my well-being takes time. Especially if it’s a behavior I’ve been doing my whole life. It’s a lesson that’s taken me a lifetime to learn. I’ve needed to accept that the work of healing is never a straight line to my desired result. It’s a process that’s uneven, bumpy––two steps forward, one step back––and resistance and challenges are bound to arise. How I choose to deal with those obstacles is up to me, and I don’t have to give those difficult feelings power.

For me, a big part of this healing work is learning that it’s better for me to not do it alone. A takeaway is that though recovery does happen, the work never ends. There’s no arriving. It’s about always being right where I am and knowing that today is all there is, and all I have to do is the next right thing. I have to show up. The reward is peace, self-love, and a release from anxiety and futuristic thinking. It’s feeling compassion for myself and others. It’s recognizing that when I pause to experience life in the now, I don’t miss anything. Savor.

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