“Slower is faster.”

When I heard this yesterday, I thought, yes – like “less is more”:  a paradox ripe with meaning and an apt description of what I am contemplating in this time of physical distancing and sheltering in place.

“Slower is faster” represents all the ways I am discovering what I’ve been missing. I am forced to pause, abide, and be with my life in ways I haven’t had to be. Perhaps this makes me and others anxious, without easy access to the usual distractions. Or perhaps anxiety is ramped up because we’ve collectively uncovered uncertainty – which has always been there, but now appears amplified because we cannot help but recognize uncertainty as current reality.

But uncertainty is not just a temporary state – it is reality, pandemic or no. Thus, moving slowly, slowing down, makes room for so much more fruitful reflection and a faster way to see what is. Seeing uncertainty as a constant, my anxiety lessens and I begin to make peace.

Slower is faster resonates with my way of being. I prefer to work slowly, though I grow impatient when things do not move quickly enough. I am a slow reader, a slow writer, a slow thinker, a slow learner, a slow runner. That does not mean I am not good at any of these things; in fact, I am darn good at all of them (okay, maybe not the running.) We all have our own pace. When I compare myself to others as we are all apt to do, I grow impatient with myself, wishing I could do more and make things happen quickly. I admire quick wits and fast thinkers, and feel a sense of shame at not being “fast enough.”

“Faster” is the mantra of our society and workplaces; fast is sometimes equated with efficiency and productivity, and our capitalist culture is steeped deeply in that cult of productivity. Yet, like less is more, cannot there also be greater value in “slower”?

Recently I chalked off my slow pace as “perfectionism” – which certainly does exist at some level – but there is something to be said for taking time to think things through, do them right the first time, and with due attention and care. When I rush in an effort to get things done, the result rarely conveys a feeling of accomplishment. Rushed work can lack quality, care, love – and, most importantly, meaning.

People I admire and respect have offered me the adage “perfect is the enemy of done” as a mantra to counter my perfectionist tendencies, and I hear them. But I wonder: what role does quality play in “done”? What of “care” or “attention” or “love”? Move too fast and we rush, and rushing leads to unnecessary mistakes, requiring things be re-done, wasting effort and energy and time. Plus, there’s that tortoise and the hare story to back me up. But more than that, when I must move at a pace that is not my own, and create work that lacks the care, love, and quality I want to produce, the work loses its meaning for me. I cannot care about it.

When I went to look up the origins of “perfect is the enemy of done” I learned the original aphorism from Voltaire is more like “the best is the enemy of the good.” That I understand – and what is “good” is not necessarily “fast.” Making things fast for the sake of done – almost by definition – means things will not be made well. Forced to work quickly we make disposable products. We make things to be used once. We give a hit to the social addiction to instant gratification. We do not fulfill any need for long-term satisfaction. We do not fulfill “the good.”

Sure, sometimes fast, disposable, low quality products are necessary, even urgent – think DIY masks in the face of a virus. Something is better than nothing. But in other work that isn’t urgent in this same way, perhaps it would be better to agree on what is “good enough” and find a golden mean.

Just as slow food can be more nutritious, slower pace can bring more attention, more care, more love, and more quality. I can be proud of what I create when I take my time. I am not proud of the work I rush in the name of “done” though I do relish the feeling of accomplishment in “well done” or “done well.” I challenge the disposable quality we’ve come to expect from everything in life. I choose better, not quicker.

“Slower is faster” represents all the ways I am discovering what I’ve been missing.

Slower is faster results in more presence. Moving slowly is the faster way to awareness. By slowing down, I can better tune into the wisdom of my body; I can take time to offer it more wholesome nutrition, or at least get creative with the nutrients available from my stock, privileged as it is. Slowing has given me faster access to my thinking, providing me with space for observation and time for responding rather than reacting.

All this is not to say I don’t appreciate faster. Faster is necessary when it comes to saving lives or preventing disasters. There are times when we absolutely must act quickly, like when someone is choking or to avoid hitting a deer in the road.

And faster can be nice – like faster technology. In fact, like many of us I get frustrated when technology doesn’t go fast enough. When we were just one week into this shelter-in-place, I nearly had a breakdown over the accumulation of technology snafus that kept me and my kids from connecting with friends and completing tasks that required wifi and cooperative devices.

But in this time when everyone is on the internet things slow down, we are forced to accept that technology may not always work (has it ever?). Like just now: I went to save my document and my computer hung up. I felt the twinge of impatience, a touch of frustration, then I took the opportunity to recognize that I was thirsty, and that I’d been sitting too long. I got up for a drink of water. I stretched my legs and took some deep breaths. I smiled at my child and pet my dog. Then I came back to my computer and it was ready for me to return, save my work, and continue writing. Slower technology gave me space to attend to my needs, and I am grateful for the reminder to pause. Slowing down allowed me to see that technology is probably not the problem and it’s probably not really any less reliable than before. Kudos to those essential workers who are keeping us connected online.

Slower is faster makes for more personal connection. Without school, I’ve had the opportunity to spend much more time with my children. Not saying this is easy – after 3 weeks of working-while-homeschooling, I am enjoying a week off of work. Homeschooling itself is a challenge, and I’m an educator! But I’ve taken time to savor the opportunity: I am fortunate to be able to work from home and be with my daughter. I am able to help with her schooling in new ways, creating learning opportunities and even enjoy doing P.E. together so we’re both up and moving. I love hearing her laughter during in virtual hangouts with her friends. Our parent-child relationship has been strengthened by this new circumstance.

Opportunities for connection expand beyond the house in surprising ways. Even in this time of shelter-in-place and physical distancing, we see in the wider world so many people offering resources, sharing stories and expertise, contributing help and guidance. Online resources, classes, group sessions, free workshops and webinars exist in almost overwhelming abundance. It was one such free webinar, “Practicing Appreciative Resilience,” where during a small group breakout discussion I learned the phrase “slower is faster” from a business professor in Saskatoon.

Who knows if I would have ever met Trevor Maber and heard this phrase had it not been for this chance. I am grateful to Trevor for helping me connect so many dots, grateful to Joan McArthur-Blair & Jeanie Cockell and the Center for Appreciative Inquiry for creating the opportunity, and grateful to all who attended who make the work worthwhile.

May slower be faster for a nice, long while, after we return to the physical proximities we once enjoyed. May the meanings we gather from this extended period of slowness benefit us all in our post-pandemic period.

Turns out, there is an acronym for this phenomena: SIF. People study this effect. So maybe this idea of slowing down isn’t so far off after all. And if you made it all the way to the end of this long piece: thanks, and glad you had the time, and while I could have edited it for brevity (and kept inline with “less is more”) I figured it would just have to be “good enough” to post!