The Art of Rushing Slowly

There’s a song by Moby I keep returning to when I carve or run. It’s called Rushing. At first, the title feels like a contradiction—it implies speed, urgency, even chaos. But the music itself is anything but rushed. It’s deliberate, rhythmic, and methodical, with layers of harmonic balance and melodic arpeggios that press and push, yet maintain an unshakable sense of calm.

This contradiction mirrors life’s natural progression, especially when we feel the pressure to do more, faster. Someone shouts, “Hurry up!” but you’re already at your limit. Forced into overdrive, you find yourself working at 110%. Yet somewhere in that chaos, you realize you have to recalibrate—find balance. You discover that moving faster, ironically, requires slowing your mind.

This realization hits me most often when I’m carving or running at a pace far beyond what I thought possible. In both, I burn off excess energy, clear my mind, and—if I’m listening closely—find clarity amidst the effort. The lesson here isn’t to rush blindly but to recognize the value of deliberate, thoughtful progress.

When I carve, I’m often pressed for time. Deadlines loom, and it’s tempting to cut corners to finish a piece. But here’s the secret I’ve learned: the best work comes when you leave space for the process. If something in the stone demands your attention—an unexpected fissure, a subtle contour—slow down. Think. Research. Experiment. Then move forward with purpose.

Skipping this step is the quickest way to sabotage your work. You’ll fall into the trap of repetition, doing what machines (and now AI) can do far better: repeat, repeat, and repeat, often making the same mistakes. The difference between you and a machine is your capacity for insight. Only you can identify those mistakes, reflect on them, and improve.

If you’re fortunate to have a teacher, they’ll point out these flaws and help you refine your craft. But even without one, there’s an inner teacher—your discipline, your instinct, your creative voice. If you’re willing to listen, it will guide you. Offer yourself up to its constructive criticism, and you’ll evolve.

Here’s the takeaway: Don’t cheat yourself out of the evolution unfolding within you. Let it happen. Be patient with the process. Then, as you master it, find ways to do it faster, more efficiently. You won’t lose time in the long run. You’ll gain it—and come out better on the other side.

Like Moby’s Rushing, life’s best progress isn’t about frantic speed. It’s about the rhythm, the balance, and the space we leave to grow. Let that space teach you.