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What if the fastest way to feel better isn’t faster at all? On a solo drive from Chicago to Flagstaff along Route 66, I kept catching myself trying to beat the ETA, race the clock, and turn every mile into a metric. Then the open road—and a few ridiculous roadside stops—reminded me: you don’t get extra points for arriving early, you just get more tired. So I tested a different rule set. Stop when hungry. Rest when tired. Choose the safer workout. Take the scenic detour for a laugh. The world kept spinning, and my shoulders finally dropped.

We dig into why slowing down feels suspicious, especially for those of us raised to earn rest only when everything is done. I talk about urgency as a default setting, how busyness gets mistaken for worth, and the quiet fear that pausing means falling behind. A slow-rolling house on the highway becomes the metaphor: it kept moving while I paused, and yet I passed it again—proof that pace is less linear than we think. We walk through practical, low-drama strategies: leave earlier, say “let me think,” take mental health days without backfilling them, and let silence do its work in conversation. Your calm does not need to match someone else’s chaos, and someone else’s poor planning doesn’t become your emergency.

There’s also the deeper payoff: discernment. With age comes the ability to choose fewer, better plans, protect energy, and notice who and what actually feels good. I share the travel choices that prioritized safety over ego, the inner voice that got louder when the schedule got lighter, and the reminder that what’s meant for you won’t pass you by because you paused. Speed is optional. Presence is not. If you’re craving permission to breathe, this one’s your green light.

If this resonated, subscribe, share it with a friend who’s always “on,” and leave a quick review. What’s one thing you’ll do slower this week?