Getting Slower
2026-03-31
There's been a certain gloominess I can't shake, but despite that, I feel calm. I don't know exactly where it's coming from. I'm not sure how well I'd be able to think my way out of it. It seems like life really has just become a regimen of thought, which while I'm not displeased by in and of itself, does make time seem like it's going by a lot slower. Pretty much every person over the age of forty I've talked to about getting older says the same thing: the older you get, the faster time flies by. I don't feel that way; if anything, time has gotten slower when I compare the last ten years to the ten years before that. The days feel longer in spite of finding comfort in certain routines. Even beyond my own personal disposition, one thing that might be making me feel this way is the information deluge. Since information is so dense and goes by so quickly, it's a bit of a tough situation to be in as someone who tries to think deeply.
There's constantly new connections to be made, things to be discovered, and conclusions to draw. I have an immense desire to understand life, the universe, or whatever else. At one time, I believed this was a strength of mine; curiosity and openness are generally seen as positive traits in Western society. As I've gotten older, the weaknesses in these traits have made themselves apparent. The world is so vast and expansive that there's no way I can wrap my head around even a fraction of it. I simply don't have the processing power to hold that weight. Yet despite seeing that reality, accepting it is a whole different thing. Weirdly, there's a certain grief I hold onto—that I won't be able to truly "get it," so to speak. Over the last few years, it's been a tough thing to let go.
Not only do I crave understanding, but I crave to be understood. I am rhetorically savvy, but can overuse those skills in contexts that don't need them. I provide deep context, explain exact throughlines of thought—all two hundred and twenty-seven of them—and used to expect people to carry that in the same way I do. These days, I get that most people don't think through things the way I do. That's not a flex from me, nor a diminution of the capacities of others; it's just that we're all different, and no amount of context or empathizing can make us all the same. I used to have this misconception that conversations should be solely about sharing understanding and connecting with others. There are many conversations that do this, of course, but I know now through harsh confrontations that there are other arguably more important components to them. Namely, the idea that conversations aren't to facilitate connection, but to achieve outcomes.
The naivety of my earlier youth exposed me to that harsh truth. Most people have conversations not just to connect, but because the other person has something they want, and they have to work to get it. I've never been a results-driven person; I am process-driven. When I do something, I usually do it "for the love of the game," as it were. This probably comes from the idea I have that outcomes are uncertain, so instead of letting outcomes dictate my decisions, I try to focus on what I can control—the process. However, most people do not see it the same way I do. Despite the uncertainty latent in every outcome, many still orient their lives around them. They only do things based on what's in it for them. Altruism is seen as a waste of time, which for a long time made me feel bitter and resentful.
Despite those harsh realities when dealing with certain people, I also understand that I don't have to put myself in one position or the other. A big thing I've learned to do recently is holding multiple truths simultaneously and breaking down dichotomies. I've found that this greatly helps my thought processes and reduces my tendency toward black-and-white thinking. In this case, conversations can facilitate connections and outcomes; it doesn't have to be either-or. Even if that's something I didn't conceptualize for a long time, I think that's how I—and others to an extent—live out relationships in practice. Much of life is negotiating and making compromises, and while I can find certain aspects of that exhausting, I know that I can do my best to work within it and not let it make me bitter.
With all of that in mind, the granularity with which I think things through has genuinely made life feel so much slower. In some ways, I have a tough time dealing with it. Life is challenging and brutal, even if the yoke one carries is easy. There's a certain part of me that just wants to get it over with, you know? Like, I don't want to feel this constant slog every single day. I know that we have different seasons and that things can get better or worse, but there's that part of me who keeps gasping for air. I don't know how to quell him, and it makes even the good days hard to get through, it seems. I keep thinking that writing through this with vulnerability and candor will be my way to the end of that tunnel, but even this is exhausting. There's a satisfaction I feel in getting through to that next sentence, but sometimes that's the only thing that keeps me going.
Like I said, I am a process-driven person. It doesn't matter what's at the end anyway. If I'm in a tunnel, I'll be in a tunnel. If I'm in the clouds, I'll fly high then. I can only focus on what's in front of me. Anything more is too much, and I don't know how much longer I'll keep holding on. Writing through this gloom is a tough thing, but at this point, there's not much else that'll get me through it. Even when I see progress, I still feel just right where I'm at. Same day, different blank page. The ebbs and flows of life can make me feel like I'm drowning.
Maybe one day, I'll learn how to breathe underwater.
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