Faster Isn’t Better

I believe something has gone wrong. We have excessive confidence in

technology. We pay a price for progress. Look around. People seem
out of control in many ways. Rather than choosing to use technology
and modern scientific advantages to make our lives more civilized
and beautiful, some people appear to have gone too far in the
opposite
direction, letting their lives become dominated by the constant
demands
of cell phones, e-mail, and instant messaging. In order to maintain a
healthy balance in my life, I’ve chosen to have other people help me
to use technology wisely. I’m still able to write my books and do my
correspondence with a fountain pen because my friend and assistant
handles all the computer work for my books and checks all the e-mails
from my Web site. If something needs immediate attention, Sharon
answers right away. I read through all the e-mails eventually and
answer
some, but not all.
I see the great benefits of e-mail. I think it is wonderful, and for many
businesses, a modern necessity. But we shouldn’t feel bogged down
by it
if we choose to take a break. Are people really happier if they are
caught
up on reading all their e-mails? It’s never-ending. They just keep
coming.

Can you take a mini-vacation from today’s rapid-fi re communications

without feeling stress?
Fast, rapid, swift, quick, hasty, active. It’s all so breathtakingly
exhausting. If I chose to use a computer to write a book, it would be
a dreary process. I love my writing desk, gazing up at fl owers, having
bright sunlight splashing down on smooth white paper. I enjoy looking
up words in a big dictionary, and I also like to have an encyclopedia
next
to me. I savor the sound of a favorite pen squeaking across the page. I
can look up and contemplate. For me, writing longhand is a pathway
to
graceful living and more deliberate thinking. What would you change
about your relationship to technology to encourage your inner peace
and
wise thinking?
When we value “faster” over the enjoyment of the process, we are
fast-forwarding our lives and getting out of sync with the richness of
the moment. We can’t fully take in the scenery when we’re looking at
a computer screen. What’s the rush? Where are you going? There is
not here. Doing is not being. High gear, high speed, diminishes our
appreciation of all our senses. When we can’t savor sensuous
pleasures,
we feel unsatisfied, restless, and anxious. Many people have lost their
ability to relax. A brilliant businessman keeps making one more deal
after another until he stops seeing his lover, stops going on vacations,
and loses his spiritual center of gravity. When we’re always up doing,
coming and going, we give up so much that will never come back to
us. Not only do we risk snuffing out our sensuousness, we also
become
machine-like, go on automatic pilot. Our soul is not engaged when
we’re moving too fast.
When we slow down and deliberately choose to savor whatever we are
doing, we can smile at our wonder, at what we’re experiencing. We
give
ourselves ample time and space to think, to ponder, to dream, to
become
conscious of all our thoughts.
My favorite sixteenth-century essayist Montaigne gives an example of
enjoying the pleasure in our midst: “When I dance, I dance; when I
sleep,

I sleep; yes, and when I walk alone in a beautiful orchard, if my

thoughts
drift to far-off matters for some part of the time, for some other part, I
lead them back again to the walk, the orchard, to the sweetness of
this
solitude, to myself.”
We all get caught up in rushing. But when we can recognize this and
stop for a moment, realizing that we are not enjoying what we’re
doing,
we can take some deep breaths and bring our attention back into
feeling
pleasure in the present. When we slow down, we learn to become
patient
again. We won’t interrupt people as much. We can listen to the
silences.
We can give someone else our undivided attention. Every day that I
worked in an office at Mrs. Brown’s decorating firm, I would leave for a
pleasant walk at lunchtime in order to be in the natural light and soak
in
some natural beauty. Mrs. Brown wouldn’t allow us to eat lunch at our
desk. She thought it wasn’t healthy to eat a meal in a business
atmosphere
with constant interruptions.
We should all try not to eat too fast. It takes twenty minutes for the
brain to register whether we have eaten enough food and are satisfi
ed. If
we rush, we won’t value the delightfully sensuous experience of
eating a
beautifully served, home-cooked meal with fresh ingredients.
Rather than being expedient, we should be more interested in
the quality of the journey, the subtle beauty of the experience. Daniel
Goleman wrote in Emotional Intelligence, “Life need not be regarded
as
an emergency about to happen.” The efficient way is not always the
best
way. The scenic route may be most appropriate.
We are faster but not necessarily wiser or happier than people one
hundred or two hundred years ago. The soul, our immaterial essence,
grows when we do less with a greater sense of appreciation, a gentler
manner, and a sweeter disposition. When we smile as we go through
our day, we see the value of slowing down, savoring the poetry of life.
We make time to enjoy the richness of fine prose, reading to a child,
and
when we hear, “Again, Mommy, again,” we read the story again, and
sometimes, again. We should readjust our priorities to be proud not of

how much we get done, but of what we’re able to achieve with a
sense
of enjoyment.
The right choices for a better, more satisfying life will favor the
sensuous, beautiful experiences without rushing. We know this to be
true;
we must continuously remind ourselves of it in order to live the good
life
fully and well.