Hurry up to wait...
Have you seen this clip?
After I watched that bit of comedian Pete Holmes, a lightbulb went off. It illuminated something that had been troubling me, but I couldn’t quite see it until I had the words (and a few laughs) to describe what I was thinking.
Not long after, as I was on my regular commute to work, listening to another great audiobook, I hit traffic. Stand still, no movement, traffic. It was a sea of red lights in front of me. Waze indicated that, half a mile up the road, I could exit the freeway and take another route. The trouble was that I had to merge over three lanes to exit. One at a time, I craned my neck and stuck the nose of my car out to ask for permission to budge. It’s not easy, like trying to go back for a fork in the church potluck line. You aren’t doing anything wrong, but you feel bad about being an inconvenience. Back on the road, each time someone kindly (or unkindly) let me merge over (it was hard to tell from their hand gesture), I gave them a universal no-look quick wave of thanks and moved on to the next lane. Once I secured the position for this alternate route, I immediately questioned my decision. It was obvious that half the freeway made the same choice I did. We were now stuck on the off-ramp.
Should I stay or should I go? A question we wrestle with often. And thanks to The Clash, it’s a question we can sing while we ponder it. Maybe some of you just did. Here I was, frustrated, alone in my car (a great place to sing), thinking about this alternative route, and singing that question over and over. Arrrggghhh! Fine. I stayed. I trusted Waze.
It took some time, but our wolf pack reached the end of the off-ramp and made a right onto a street in one of those endless and unrecognizable commercial areas off the interstate. I’ve often wondered how some of these stores stay in business. Have you been to the iPhone repair store? Which one? The one called iPhone Repair Store, next to the Taco Shop, Club Bingo, and the Vape House. They pack a whole Saturday into these strip malls. Up ahead, another left turn, past a golf course. This cut through, one I now recognized, would get us onto the service road that led back to the highway. But on this particular day, even the cut through was impassable. It was stop-and-go the whole way. I was stuck.
Irritated and antsy, I looked around and recognized I now had time to look more closely at the decent-looking golf course I had zipped past several times. I glanced right to try to catch a glimpse of a golfer. Luckily, there was one…what looked like an 80-year-old man about to tee off on Hole 9, a Par 3. I had looked just in time to see him tee off. He had a nice swing. His low-trajectory shot bounced in front of the green and rolled onto the left side, pin high. About fifteen feet from the hole. Nicely done!
He casually walked back his golf cart and started to drive toward the green. I inched forward down the street, immediately beginning to enjoy this distraction. I wondered if I going to be able to see it through…
While he made his way up the cart path to the green, he passed the point of the road where I was stopped. As he drove by, he glanced over in my direction at the bumper-to-bumper line of cars on the typically quiet street…and stared at us for a few seconds.
If I could have read his mind, I’m sure the thought in his head would have been, “I’m so glad to be me…”
And if he could have read my mind, he would have heard me agree, “I so wish I were you…”
He drove on ahead to the green, parked his cart, grabbed his putter, and slowly walked to his ball. He glanced my way one more time…I think he realized he had a small gallery to watch his birdie putt. Little did he know, I was locked in.
He bent down to check the break of the green. I leaned forward for a closer look.
As he read his putt, a car in line up ahead must have turned to free up some movement. I crept down the street, not wanting to make a sound and break his concentration. My car was now pin high, in a perfect position to watch the putt.
From my car caddy vantage point, it looked like a mild left-to-right break, slightly uphill.
“Come on, buddy, you got this!” I said.
The car in front of me once again slowly rolled forward. My foot was fully on the brake. There was no way I was going to miss this putt. I raised my hand to hold up an imaginary Quiet Please sign.
He gave the ball a smooth and solid stroke. As if in slow motion, it rolled forward, tracking well, right on line. Then, at the last second, it hit the left edge, on the pro side of the cup, and lipped out. So close! He walked to the hole, shaking his head at the thought of another missed birdie, and tapped in for par.
As he replaced the flag, I thought about honking to start a chorus of cheers, but I figured some of the others probably didn’t even see what happened and would think I was just annoyed with the traffic. I had also hoped he would wave or nod to the peanut gallery packed on the street. But he probably didn’t want to rub it in. He already knew that we knew that he was the winner that day. He replaced the flag and walked away with a little hop in his step, as one does when they tap in for par. It’s a simple game, really. He slid his putter back into his bag with care, sat back down in his cart to mark “3” on his card…and smiled. It all seemed so effortless. Relaxed, happy, his left leg now dangled out the side of the cart…and off he went. He sped away…with no other golfers in sight.
I sat there for a few more minutes. Wondering when I’d get my next round of golf in…or finally get to work. Shoot! Work. I had drifted off and suddenly snapped back to reality. I wasn’t even halfway there. I eventually made it into the office and pondered the drive that day. It would have been a regular traffic day, but my thoughts were rerouted to that man on Hole 9. I was stuck in traffic, wishing I were somewhere else. He played that hole to near perfection, seemingly right where he was supposed to be. It takes time, talent, and treasure to play golf. On a good day, I may have one of those. This man seemed to have all three. I have replayed that moment in my head many times since. I have a goal to golf at age 90; my time will come. His time had already come, and he seemed to be soaking in the fruits of his 3 T’s. Good for him!
The funny thing is, I shouldn’t have been there to witness it. I should have been comfortably inching my way down the freeway, engrossed in an audiobook. I shouldn’t have been present to watch Mr. Tap-In’s Tuesday Tee Time. But I was, thanks to Waze. Waze didn’t get me anywhere faster that day, but it did provide me a valuable lesson: to slow down, stay present, and make the most of where I am, not wishing I were somewhere else.
Pete’s bit had planted a seed of a thought that bloomed on that Par 3 side street. In fact, ever since that day, I’ve been done with Waze. No Waze, Jose. I deleted it.
Conan called Waze “the app that tells you how to get there the fastest.” But I agree with Pete when he replied, “That’s the idea…[but] it’s not the way of the soul, Conan…”
I don’t want to live like I’m trying to “get there the fastest,” wherever there is. In many ways, it’s the opposite. Time is flying. And it’s easier said than done, but I’d prefer to slow down and soak in all of life’s experiences more deeply.
Yes, I still use other GPS at times, like a map. Certain places I struggle to get to, like our closest library branch, which is in a part of town I don’t drive often. It’s also on a one-way street with a super wonky entrance shared by the bank drive-through next door. From the stoplight to a parking spot, it takes 6 or 7 turns to complete the maze. I’ve never tried, but I think if you had good aim, you could deposit a check and return your books at the same time. In these moments, I’m just trying to get on the right path. A digital map shows me the way, so I don’t get lost…or accidentally jump a curb. Once I know my way, I don’t need it. These days, I seldom use GPS to find a faster route, to “save time”.
In the clip, Pete says, “long…slow...straight…good!” I like the sound of that. Which kind of sounds like Mr. Par 3 on Hole 9. Golf is all about long, slow, and straight. Growing up, as I learned to play the game with my dad, he always said, “Hurry up to wait.” If you rushed it and played too fast, you inevitably would wait longer and spend all day on the heels of the players in front of you. If you relaxed and paced yourself, you’d enjoy your company more and not fixate on the group ahead. And naturally, if you stayed focused on your own game, you likely played better.
But we aren’t just talking about golf here. Pete also uses the word surrender…a word we don’t use often. I suppose it sounds like a white flag, to give up. But that’s not exactly what he’s saying…
In the Bible (see James 4), we find a similar term, to submit. Talk about a word not loved by all. I suppose it sounds like one gives up total control. After all, submitting to authority, to your spouse, to God…to traffic, is hard!
Which is getting closer to Pete’s point. And reminds me of a lesser-known song by The Fray that says, “sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.”
Another way to say it is to humble oneself and keep showing up. To accept what life brings and keep moving forward. Sometimes doing a hard thing once frees up the right thing to get started. Regularly doing the hard thing over time allows the right thing to take root. Even if that thing is like Pete, driving inch by inch down the interstate. Or like Mr. Hop-In-His-Step, walking yard by yard on the course. Or like my attempt to do hard things, running mile by mile on the neighborhood trail. Life gives us opportunities to practice hard things, and when we accept them, maybe even embrace them, good things happen. Or at the very least, regardless of the outcome, we can approach all things with a thankful heart.
You don’t have to take my word for it, but I think there is a profound lesson in Pete’s bit…
A fan of “What-Not” gets it. Humbled to have you on board, by the way. Thanks, Pastor Wolfmueller. We’ve often heard him talk of thankfulness, the kind where the recipient is more thankful for the giver than the gift. Similarly, in what he calls his best newsletter sent out on Wednesdays (ish), you will recognize his popular reminder for all, “In good times, and in bad, God be praised!”
John Mark Comer gets it. In his book The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry, he calls hurry a “form of violence on the soul.” Hurry, he argues, negatively impacts your relationships, joy, thankfulness, wisdom…all that we hold dear. In my last post, I highlighted this book as being one of my favorites of the year. It’s a playbook, suggesting many ways to eliminate hurry, like, “It’s wise to regularly deny ourselves from getting what we want, whether through a practice as intense as fasting or as minor as picking the longest checkout line. That way, when someone else denies us getting what we want, we don’t respond with anger; we’re already acclimated. We don’t have to get our way to be happy. Naturally, this takes a while for most of us, so start small…at aisle three.”
Pete gets it. The clip I shared from the Conan Show, which is now 8 years old, was actually the second version of a bit about Waze that I saw from him. The one shared above is the PG-rated, family-friendly version…which is how I plan to write. The version I saw first was a clip from 2 years ago of Pete on the Adam Carolla Show. In it, he leans in and expounds on what’s behind his dislike of Waze.
There is something profound about comedy. Certain jokes have a way of delivering uncomfortable truths that other words or venues can’t…or won’t. This bit, albeit laced with profanity, throws some provoking thoughts in your face. He’s using traffic, something we all tend to be frustrated by, to suggest that traffic isn’t the problem. Therefore, using Waze, a tool to try to beat traffic, is not the answer. You can skip his colorful words, which are summed up with this: “A lot of these time-saving [tools] are taking us away from the opportunity we have to sink, and surrender, into the happiness that we are. Instead of this circumstantial happiness that doesn’t work. Oh, I’ll be happy once I’m __________.” Fill in the blank with anything you want to understand his point.
He continues, “I’m just saying, you’ve got a microwave, now you cook dinner in 30 seconds. But what are you doing with the extra time? All this time we’ve saved. What have you done? Have you watched any sunsets? Have you gazed into your daughter’s eyes? Have you taken a moment to contemplate the infinite mystery that’s looking out of your eyes? Have you gotten curious about that?”
My dad gets it. I can’t count the number of times in my life someone has told me how much they love my dad. Growing up, I’d say, yeah, yeah, yeah, he’s pretty cool. I was just in too much of a hurry to really get it. He’s got what I call a humble mumble, a way of deflecting praise to make others feel special. A skill that makes a lot more sense now that I have a family of my own. He is genuinely curious and cares more for your success than his own. Hurry up to wait was a reminder to himself (probably passed down from his dad, I’ll ask), and it was a tip he intentionally passed down to me. He was on to something more profound than I realized as a child…
You can hurry up to wait…in golf.
You can hurry up to wait…in traffic.
And you can hurry up to wait…in life.
What does this mean? If you’re in a hurry, you miss the magic all around you. Then you find yourself waiting for something you may have already missed.
Maybe I’m getting older, but I’m more aware of time and years passing than I ever have been. Vivid memories of my youth that seem like yesterday are now decades old. The occasional phone scroll is photo evidence that my kids are growing up faster than I can believe. They say the days are long and the years are short. But I’m starting to think the days are short and the years are shorter. I have to force myself to slow down.
I took Pete’s advice last week while on a coffee date with my 9-year-old daughter. As she was talking and talking and chugging her hot chocolate, I just smiled and stared into her beautiful green eyes. It was easily the best moment of my month.
God be praised!
You don’t have to take my word for it, but I think there is a profound lesson in Pete’s bit…
Mr. Left Leg Dangled Out gets it.
Long, slow, straight. It’s a better way to live.
AP