So, I was late for the opera. This was mostly poor planning on my part. Doesn't matter. I was late. And there was a Justin Bieber concert (of all things) in the same area of town at the same time. And so I was going to be late, I was pretty sure.
This led to an interesting reflection. I was anxious. I felt a sense of urgency. I was annoyed with every car in front of me. I was annoyed with myself. I was already disappointed. And it was all entirely useless. Not just a little bit misguided or misdirected, but entirely, completely, indefatigably pointless. So, I took the opportunity to use this time in the car, driving to the opera, to simply rest in the anxiety and see it for what it was—an odd and destructive remnant of my primordial being, a lizard-brain response to threat, a kicking in of my endocrine system to enable me to respond to a perceived matter of life and death. I mean, really? I was late for the freaking opera.
This reminded me of a line of inquiry I have pursued many times. When I see someone rushing through a hallway at work, or when I find myself doing that, I try to remember what a misguided response this is to being late or in a hurry. Here is the basic math: let's be generous and say you are trying to go 100 yards from your starting to ending points. Let's give you credit for being able to walk 5 miles per hour, which is pretty fast unless you are a professional speed walker. Let's compare that to the normal walking pace of 3 miles per hour. At 5 mph, you can walk 100 yards in 0.68 minutes. At 3 mph, in 1.13 minutes. So, by rushing down the hall at 5 mph, you gain less than 30 seconds. And you arrive at your destination flustered, winded, and harried, hardly in the best shape to begin whatever work it was you were rushing to. Even more amusing to me is people who rush from their door to the car, a savings of (if they are lucky) five seconds, which of course is entirely negated (and more) if rushing causes them to forget or drop something.
And yet we live much of our lives this way, as if we are always late, as if our destination mattered to the fate of the world, or even ourselves. Which it does not. I have observed before that we seem to feel the need to be busy because important people are busy. I think it's the same with hurrying. There is no evidence that hurrying makes you faster and quite a bit of evidence that it slows you down. I recall working in the ICU and rushing about whenever a code was called, letting adrenaline run the show. What I finally noticed, though, was that those who were the most effective in a code were those who strolled in, spoke calmly and in a normal voice. They were always thinking clearly and usually had a very good idea what the next, best step would be. Ever since then, I have tried to emulate this behavior in an emergency. It's not nearly as exciting as getting all worked up, but the patient usually does much better, and so do I.
The same in truly in my daily life. When I become agitated and worked up, whether because I am late or stressed or challenged or disrespected, the outcome is never a good one. I usually create more chaos and always create more internal agitation. And it's worthless. A waste of time and energy. I will get to the opera or I will not. No one will die. All will be well.
This led to an interesting reflection. I was anxious. I felt a sense of urgency. I was annoyed with every car in front of me. I was annoyed with myself. I was already disappointed. And it was all entirely useless. Not just a little bit misguided or misdirected, but entirely, completely, indefatigably pointless. So, I took the opportunity to use this time in the car, driving to the opera, to simply rest in the anxiety and see it for what it was—an odd and destructive remnant of my primordial being, a lizard-brain response to threat, a kicking in of my endocrine system to enable me to respond to a perceived matter of life and death. I mean, really? I was late for the freaking opera.
This reminded me of a line of inquiry I have pursued many times. When I see someone rushing through a hallway at work, or when I find myself doing that, I try to remember what a misguided response this is to being late or in a hurry. Here is the basic math: let's be generous and say you are trying to go 100 yards from your starting to ending points. Let's give you credit for being able to walk 5 miles per hour, which is pretty fast unless you are a professional speed walker. Let's compare that to the normal walking pace of 3 miles per hour. At 5 mph, you can walk 100 yards in 0.68 minutes. At 3 mph, in 1.13 minutes. So, by rushing down the hall at 5 mph, you gain less than 30 seconds. And you arrive at your destination flustered, winded, and harried, hardly in the best shape to begin whatever work it was you were rushing to. Even more amusing to me is people who rush from their door to the car, a savings of (if they are lucky) five seconds, which of course is entirely negated (and more) if rushing causes them to forget or drop something.
And yet we live much of our lives this way, as if we are always late, as if our destination mattered to the fate of the world, or even ourselves. Which it does not. I have observed before that we seem to feel the need to be busy because important people are busy. I think it's the same with hurrying. There is no evidence that hurrying makes you faster and quite a bit of evidence that it slows you down. I recall working in the ICU and rushing about whenever a code was called, letting adrenaline run the show. What I finally noticed, though, was that those who were the most effective in a code were those who strolled in, spoke calmly and in a normal voice. They were always thinking clearly and usually had a very good idea what the next, best step would be. Ever since then, I have tried to emulate this behavior in an emergency. It's not nearly as exciting as getting all worked up, but the patient usually does much better, and so do I.
The same in truly in my daily life. When I become agitated and worked up, whether because I am late or stressed or challenged or disrespected, the outcome is never a good one. I usually create more chaos and always create more internal agitation. And it's worthless. A waste of time and energy. I will get to the opera or I will not. No one will die. All will be well.
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