Again in Memory of Andy Rooney.

A co-worker named Donald came up to me recently and said, “Aren’t you sick of the word ‘grab.’ Everyone says they’re going to ‘grab’ something these days. ‘Grab lunch…grab some paperwork…grab my kids.’ Why  do they need to grab everything?” A look of astonishment covered his face. (For God’s sake, don’t grab a woman. Guys who grab, instead waiting for a relationship to develop, wind up in hot water.

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines grab as “to take or seize by or as if by a sudden motion or grasp.”

Before “grabbing” became popular a couple of decades ago, we used to say, “I’m going to pick up some lunch.” Webster’s defines pick up as “the art of collecting something.” It makes lunch sound more enjoyable and restful.

It’s not just the word “grab” that annoys me. My friend might as well have included “quick.” The word brings up images of stressed out people racing around. Do an internet search for “quick services.” Quickly you’ll find quick cleaning services, quick building contractors, quick delivery services and a multitude more “quicks.” I’m not so concerned about someone being quick as much as thorough. I like an “efficient” guy better than quick. Quick guys make mistakes. I don’t want to pay twice. “Haste makes waste,” Ben Franklin liked to say.

Haste makes waste for many aspiring writers. They write fast (as I did), which chokes off the feeling the slower writer feeds into his work.

I don’t know about you, but I enjoy food cooked slowly. Who likes rubbery eggs, dry meat, or pancakes done on the outside but gooey in the middle. Of course there are some exceptions. My brother cooks his bacon quickly on high heat and it’s delightfully crispy.

Of course, some things do need to be done quickly. EMTs often have to work quickly, but at the same time, be precise. Firefighters can’t take scenic routes to get to fires. A mother often has to rush quickly to her child.

Psychologists are now saying there is an epidemic of young people trying to cram as many fulfilling experiences into their lives as possible, as quickly as possible. They say, this striving causes harmful stress, anxiety and depression. Perhaps one reason illegal drugs have become epidemic is because they offer temporary relief from unbearable stress.

Writing about racing through life brings back memories of the story, “The Hare and the Tortoise.” Do you recall how the hare laughed at the tortoise for his slow gait? The tortoise challenged him to a race. The hare napped too long, and the tortoise won the race. One could liken it to the man who races through life and needs to retire early because of a heart attack. Another works slowly and steadily,  maintaining his life through a comfortable, lengthy career.

I’ll be honest with you. I’m have been guilty of stressing myself out by working too quickly, but I’m far better than I used to be. And I feel better. I enjoy myself at work more and when I’m doing such things as going to the gym and shopping. I feel relaxed, present in the moment. Sometimes when I have a day off, I try to do things as slowly as I can to spite the word of “quick.”

Here’s the painful way I learned about pacing myself. My father was much older than typical fathers, and did everything slooooooooowly. The situation drove me bonkers at times. If we had “errands” to do, he took longer to get dressed than a woman trying on clothes at Macy’s. “Let’s go Dad!” I’d holler. I’d hear the calm voice from his bedroom. “I’m going as fast as I can go. I can’t go any faster.”  My father drove at what was a snail’s pace to me. “Come on Dad, I would say, “Drive faster.” Walking through stores with him was a torture. I’d urge him on, but his response was the same. (At church, after the priest say his final words in church, we children would rise. Dad would remain seated. “We’re not going to get out any faster by hurrying,” he would say. We wouldn’t leave until the church was empty. For some reason, this felt kind of nice.” Once home, I’d grab the pancakes my mother would make.)  

I now hear the voice of my father, who lived to a ripe old age, in my mind at times when I’m tempted to rush. “I can’t go any faster.” Now I repeat it to myself, smile inside and make myself slow down. A wave of relaxation displaces the strain on mind and body. I enjoy my life much more. My work is of better quality, and I get it done faster because of less mistakes. My writing is better because it comes from the heart, not a racing mind. I wish “quick” would go away quickly if not sooner.

#commentary #quality of life #Andy Rooney