I was driving home from the grocery store on one of those wide two-lane roads that curves through town, I had the windows cracked and music playing low, and a kind of peace that comes with knowing dinner’s already in the bag.

Nothing unusual.

Then came the noise.

A deep, growling sound like a motorcycle was trying to swallow a lawn mower. Before I could even figure out what it was, this giant black truck came flying past me on the left.

It roared by like we were in the middle of a drag race. I flinched. I actually said “Wow” out loud, which is what I do when I want to curse but I have a kid at the back that might be listening. My three-year-old nephew, asleep in the back seat, stayed peaceful

–thank God.

He swerved back into the lane just ahead of me. I glanced at my speed. I was going slightly below the limit, but okay, sir, go live your NASCAR dreams.

Not two minutes later, we both rolled up to the same red light. He ended up exactly two car lengths in front of me.

I almost laughed.

All that noise, all that energy, and we arrived at the same place, at almost the exact same time. Me, calmly waiting behind a row of cars. Him, three spaces ahead, still very much not at his destination.

That’s when it hit me.

How Often Do We Do This in Life?

I used to be that person. The woman in a hurry. Not in a big truck, but in spirit. Always trying to go faster, do more, be better. Always chasing the next thing. I wore my busyness like a badge of honor. If I wasn’t rushing, I wasn’t trying hard enough. There was always this tightness in my chest like I was behind on something, even when I wasn’t sure what.

It never felt like enough. Even when I got there first — wherever “there” was — it didn’t feel satisfying. The goalpost moved. The to-do list grew. And I stayed tired. But when I look back, I can’t tell you what I gained from all that rushing. What I do remember are the small accidents, the stress headaches, the extra gas, and the constant feeling that I was never where I was supposed to be.

Now maybe the man in the truck had a good reason. Maybe he was late picking up a kid. Maybe there was an emergency. I don’t know. I’m not here to judge him. But what I do know is that I recognize that energy. The desperate need to move forward faster, even when forward doesn’t get you anywhere different.

What’s the Real Cost of Hurrying?

Let’s take the truck guy. What did he actually gain? A few feet of road. A slightly earlier stop at the light. But at what cost?

• He burned more gas, which these days isn’t cheap.

• More wear. Brakes, tires, engine — all of it wears down faster when you drive like a video game.

• He added stress to his body. That kind of driving comes with adrenaline spikes — and not the good kind.

• He took a risk. On a narrow two-lane road, one wrong move could’ve meant an accident.

• He scared me a little. Which, honestly, should count for something.

Now multiply that kind of rushing by every day, every errand, every meeting, every plan. It adds up not just in dollars or wear-and-tear on your car, but in mental exhaustion. In lost peace. In the ways we stop enjoying our lives.

The Illusion of “Getting Ahead”

Here’s the part I wish someone had told me sooner: getting somewhere faster doesn’t always mean getting there better. And it definitely doesn’t mean getting there happier.

Sometimes, the only difference between rushing and waiting is the stress in your body and the story in your head. Most of us aren’t rushing for real emergencies. We’re rushing because we’re conditioned to. We’re trained to believe that speed equals success. That moving fast means we’re important. That being still is lazy.

But I’m learning that slowness is not laziness. It just means you’re paying attention. Being where you’re at the moment and soon enough you’ll get to where you need to be.

It’s looking around. Sipping the coffee before it gets cold. Breathing. Remembering that most of life happens here — not five cars ahead.

Sometimes Slower Is Smarter

This is what I’m learning, slowly, and sometimes the hard way. That red light? It’s always going to show up. Life has a way of stopping us — with traffic, with illness, with things we didn’t see coming. And when it does, we’ll wish we hadn’t spent so much time speeding toward it.
Now, when I’m tempted to rush, to click the fast-forward button on my day, I ask myself:

What would actually happen if I didn’t? If I stayed in the moment? If I trusted that I’ll get where I’m going without burning myself out on the way?

Usually, the answer is: I’d be fine. Actually, I’d be better. I get it though, we all want to move forward. That’s human. But there’s something beautiful and wildly underrated about being okay with where you are.

You don’t have to prove anything by going faster. You’re allowed to move through life at your own pace. Sometimes, that’s the smartest, kindest thing you can do.