Why we can’t stop rushing

A friend and I regularly remind each other of a radio news segment she heard years ago. The reporter concluded the story, about a mess of delays on the Long Island Rail Road, with the sentence: “These commuters are ready for this day to be over once and for all.” The message was of course that the commuters wanted to go home for dinner and go to bed. But the finality of “once and for all” made it sound like the commuters were so fed up that they wanted to end that day and all days. Or, as my friend wrote: “Certainly, at some point the day will be over for all of us. Is that what we are rushing to?”

This obsession with being done with things, with living life as an endless to-do list, is ridiculous. I find that sometimes I’m having a good time, like going out to dinner with friends, and I notice a persistent longing for the end of the dinner. Why? So I can move on to the next thing, who cares what the next thing is, just keep going. Keep rushing, even through the good parts.

In Marie Howe’s poem “Hurry,” she describes grocery shopping with a child in tow. “Hurry up, honey, I say, hurry up,” she urges, as the little one runs off to keep up with her. Then she wonders, “Where do I want her to rush to? To her grave? / Mines? Where could she be one day, all grown up?

This is not new advice: to stop and smell the roses, to be here now, to slow down. But it is not easily complied with. Our culture, as always, rewards busyness. The Silicon Valley maxim, “Done is better than perfect,” can be constructive when applied to procrastination. But we put it into practice in situations where “done” is not necessarily a desirable goal.

Since my subway incident, I’ve been trying to notice when I’m rushing, physically and psychologically. “Where are you going?” I ask myself. “And why are you in such a hurry?” That pause creates some space between here and there and, with a bit of luck, can prevent future misery.