The older I get, the more I find myself drawn toward experiences that slow life down instead of speed it up.
That probably sounds strange coming from someone whose days are often packed with meetings, phone calls, decisions, travel, responsibilities, and deadlines. Like most people, I spend a large portion of my life moving quickly from one thing to the next. Fast cars. Fast planes. Fast schedules. Fast conversations. Fast answers.
But somewhere along the way, I started realizing that life looks very different when you move through it at three miles per hour.
Recently, I was texting a buddy about an idea that’s been stuck in my head ever since reading The Comfort Crisis. The book talks about the Japanese concept of “misogi,” intentionally doing something difficult enough to stretch your understanding of yourself. Not something reckless. Not performative. Just something hard enough that it changes you.
For me, what keeps coming back into my mind is the idea of hiking between two places that I’ve driven between dozens, maybe hundreds, of times.
Not famous landmarks.
Not mountain summits.
Just two familiar places connected by roads I know almost by memory.
Places no one would ever consider walkable.
And I think that’s exactly why the idea fascinates me.
Part of me wants to do it for the physical challenge. Part of me wants to do it simply to prove that I can. But deeper than that, I think I want to do it because it forces me to reconsider the distances I’ve created in my own mind.
Things often feel farther away than they actually are.
Not just destinations.
Possibilities.
Growth.
Perspective.
Adventure.
Connection.
Sometimes we aren’tnearly as limited as we think we are. We’ve just become accustomed to convenience.
I have several adventures coming up over the next year, at least two that I know will test me mentally and physically. One here in the United States and another overseas. In both cases, a large part of our days will simply involve being outside in the elements, moving from one place to another, trying to see what we can find.
And honestly, part of the excitement is not fully knowing what comes next.
Not knowing how far.
Not knowing exactly what we’ll encounter.
Not knowing how difficult the day will be.
Not knowing exactly how it ends.
There’s something deeply uncomfortable about that.
And something deeply alive about it too.
I can still remember sitting in my room as a young boy wishing I was older. Wishing Iwas through school already. Wishing I had freedom. Wishing I could go where I wanted, when I wanted, and build a life entirely on my own terms.
And then one day, that happened.
The strange thing is, when we’re young, we imagine freedom like it’s some distant mountain peak. But once we arrive there, we often stop appreciating the climb that got us there in the first place.
If I’m being reflective, I probably didn’t appreciate enough of those years when they were happening. I didn’t slow down enough. I didn’t absorb enough. I didn’t understand how quickly seasons of life disappear.
Maybe that’s part of what this desire to wander really is.
Not escape.
Not discontent.
Not restlessness.
Awareness.
The awareness that life moves quickly.
That time moves quickly.
That opportunities move quickly.
And maybe the awareness that if we aren’t intentional, our world slowly starts to shrink without us even noticing it.
As I’ve reached what is probably somewhere near halftime in my career and many of my relationships, I find myself becoming far more contemplative. More thoughtful about how I spend my time. More focused on pushing my limits physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually, and professionally.
Not because I’m unhappy with my life.
Quite the opposite.
I love my family.
I love my friendships.
I love the business we’ve built.
I love the people I get to serve.
But I’m beginning to realize that wandering and rootedness are not opposites.
In many ways, wandering deepens the roots.
Travel makes me appreciate home more.
Distance sharpens gratitude.
Adventure creates perspective.
Discomfort creates appreciation.
And oddly enough, I think moving through the world more slowly sometimes allows us to see it more clearly.
Life really does look different at three miles per hour.