The Virtue of Slowing Down

Last week I shut down all my social media. Within hours, my phone was lighting up with messages I'm still working through. Texts, emails, voicemails — people checking in, people concerned, people who hadn't reached out in years suddenly wanting to know if I was okay.

I am. More than okay, actually. But I'm also slower than I've ever been. And that's the point.

The Fastest Person in the Room

I'm not someone you'd call slow. There's not been one thing in my life I've ever done slowly.

I learned early that showers and getting ready had to be fast because we lived with a well and six people in one house. I learned to move quickly, make decisions fast, and outrun my anxiety before my fear could take over. I brush my teeth and wash my face quickly because I have things to do. I don't enjoy taking time with the maintenance of life. I even type 120 words a minute to get things done as fast as possible and use an app to do voice-to-text so I can get my thoughts out quicker.

I'm not saying this because I'm proud of it. I'm saying it because I need to slow down.

When I first learned about Human Design, I had this strange feeling I must have put my birthday in wrong. It told me I was here to take things slowly. To move slowly. To make decisions slowly. That didn't feel like me at all.

But then it said my brain works very quickly. That I'm usually solving problems well before the sun comes up. That when someone gives me an idea, I can test every possible way it could work or fail before they ever take action.

That's when I knew it was definitely me.

The only problem was that I had been living as someone I wasn't. Fast and furious. Making decisions quickly. And many times living with cognitive dissonance — holding two opposing things in my head at the same time and somehow justifying them to create a false sense of harmony.

The Harmony That Wasn't

When I started realizing a few years ago that my life was not harmonious, I began making decisions to make it look like it was. But I didn't make decisions to make it better or easier. I made decisions that allowed me to see my life as okay even when it wasn't.

I'll spare you the details of how fast I ran in the wrong direction. How many times I launched something that didn't feel like me. How many programs I built that allowed me to feel successful while also feeling like an utter failure. How many times I burned myself out publicly and without excuse while putting myself last.

Aren't we really good at telling other people what to do while not seeing that we're the ones who need to hear our own message? I often say "we teach what we need to learn the most." And it's painfully true for those of us in circles where we support others in their growth, healing, or business. I was excellent at helping other people clear what needed to be cleared while sitting in my own mess — knowing I was growing while also knowing I wasn't going in the right direction.

When Enough Is Enough

My whole life, yet especially recently, I've been told how strong I am. How courageous. How brave. Sometimes just for being myself. Other times for sharing my journey. But I don't see it as strong or courageous or brave. I see it as required.

Because we live in a world of people who are virtue-signaling while destroying their lives. Falling to pieces while telling everyone they're okay. Talking about how much money they're making when there's nothing in their bank account.

And that's someone I've never been interested in being. I'd rather be honest and vulnerable and true than tell anyone something they'd find out later was never real.

This morning I started thinking about this word — virtue. Why do we use the phrase "virtue-signaling"?

One of my favorite spoken word pieces (Burg by Mt Wolf) has a line that says if he could get you to do one thing, "it would be to get to the point where you feel truly motivated toward keeping your virtue — and then you'll discover quite quickly how extraordinary a life was meant to be."

Virtue-signaling is about publicly performing morality for the sake of appearing good. It's usually used as criticism because it's superficial. Performative. Hollow.

But virtue itself? Virtue is behavior showing high moral character. High standards. Patience and courage. The Latin root — virtus — means strength or excellence. Virtue represents the cultivation of qualities foundational to human flourishing. It's about finding balance between two extremes: cowardice and recklessness. That balance is courage.

So when someone tells me I'm brave or courageous, it actually points to virtue. Not the signaling kind. The real kind. Holding high moral standards and character no matter what is happening around you.

Wouldn't all of us want to live this way? Honest. Courageous. Patient. Of course we would. But is it possible to always be that way? Or is it human to think about yourself instead of others? To focus on your own pain? To expect gratitude in return for the good you've done?