On Being Left Behind
Slowing down has its advantages, but over the last two weeks, I’ve had a nagging feeling that I am falling behind. It’s as if I were strolling along contentedly, sipping my peppermint tea, until one glance to my left revealed a sea of people sprinting past.
Another writer signs a book deal.
Another podcast has more reviews.
Another family has all their kids in music lessons.
Another couple plans a 20th anniversary trip.
Suddenly, my pace doesn’t seem good enough, and my destination grows dim. Contentment thins.
Has slow living left me in the dust? The question left me unsettled.
On Monday afternoon, I talked on the phone with my friend Amanda. Both writers, we have similar pursuits. We are also both mothers and wives, with responsibilities outside our aspirations. Without knowing the full extent of my wrestling, Amanda offered me a story she had heard at church that past Sunday.
“Your name kept coming to mind,” she said. And when someone says that, you listen.
I leaned in as Amanda recalled the story*:
A Brazilian fisherman owned one, small boat and spent two to three hours a day catching fish. He’d go home with just enough fish to feed his family, and for the rest of the day, he’d play with his kids or perhaps take a nap. In the evening, he’d go into town to meet friends for a drink and to play guitar. Every day looked the same.
One day, the fisherman comes ashore after his morning’s work when a businessman who happened to be visiting town approaches him, “I’ve been watching you. You know, if you spent a little more time fishing each day, you could earn enough money to buy a bigger boat.”
“Okay. And then what?” replied the fisherman.
“Well,” the businessman continued, “then you could save up and get a second boat. You could have a fleet of boats.”
“And then what?” the fisherman asked again.
“Then you could earn more money and hire a crew,” responded the businessman.
The fisherman followed with the same question, “And then what?”
“Well, then you could make even more income, let your crew do most of the work, so that you would only have to be out on the boat two or three hours a day. You would only have to fish as much as you want and could spend the rest of your time with your wife and family.”
The fisherman looked the businessman in the eye, his response soft but firm, “But I already have that.”
For several days, Amanda’s story stuck with me. Every time I felt the urge for my goals to turn toward striving, for my forward movement to change from a walk to a run, a Voice whispered, “And then what?”
I get a book published. (And then what?)
The podcast has thousands of listeners. (And then what?")
My kids are all concert pianists by age twelve. (And then what?)
We celebrate our anniversary in Italy. (And then what?)
Will I find satisfaction on the other side that isn’t already here? Where will my striving get me? Perhaps, like the fisherman predicted, I’ll end right back where I started. But worst-case scenario: I sacrifice all the good I already have because I failed to savor it along the way. I cross the finish line alone and empty-handed.
And then what?
Pace does not dictate our destination, but it does determine how we get there. While slow living doesn’t hold all the answers, I cannot help but think that good things take time and quality will always hold more weight than quantity. What is ahead is made better by what is now.
So I’m trying to keep my eyes on what’s in front of me, to pay attention to the life I’m already living and to let quality, not quantity, set the pace. No one can tell stories about a life not lived.
“All is vanity.
What does man gain by all the toil
at which he toils under the sun?”
Ecc. 1:2-3 ESV
REFLECT:
Imagine that you’re on the other side of where you’re headed (a goal, vision, or dream), and ask yourself: And then what?
*NOTE: This story is my personal paraphrase. The story was originally told by Eric Geiger as part of a sermon series “Word to the Wise” at Mariner’s Church. You can watch that message HERE.
