The Hidden Cost of Always Being in a Hurry (It's Stealing Your Life)

Why Your Anxiety Is Actually Just Fake Urgency (And How to Stop It)

TLDR: Our obsession with rushing—to finish tasks, be first in line, get the best spot—creates stress while robbing us of what matters most: meaningful connections and present-moment awareness. By recognizing that most things we rush toward are ultimately forgettable and embracing specific practices to slow down, we can reduce anxiety, deepen relationships, and find greater fulfillment. There is no rush—and that realization might be the key to both a happier life and more meaningful success.

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Recently, I found myself doing it again.

We were driving to the beach, which was about a 45-minute drive. The whole time, I found myself worrying about what parking spot I would get. It sounds a bit crazy, but that's what was on my mind. When we finally arrived, we easily found a parking spot, and there were plenty available. It didn't matter how close they were; they were all convenient.

Despite this, I had stressed about it the entire trip—not to the point of being overwhelmed, but just enough to pull me out of enjoying the moment. While we were driving through beautiful scenery and having lively conversations in the car, I still felt that nagging thought in the back of my mind: "I need to get a good parking spot."

That night, it hit me like a ton of bricks, a thought crystallized: There is no rush.

Challenge: The Hurry Habit

Most of us weren't born impatient. We learned it: the need to be first, fastest, and most efficient, the compulsion to mark tasks complete, beat traffic, grab the best seat, and finish ahead of schedule.

It's like a background program constantly running in my mind:

• Get there first

• Finish quickly

• Don't waste time

• Move on to the next thing

This isn't just about being organized or valuing time. It's an anxiety-driven obsession that has quietly hijacked much of my adult life.

The toughest part? This hurry habit makes logical sense on the surface. Being efficient is good, right? Getting things done quickly means accomplishing more. At least that's what I've told myself.

As entrepreneurs, we're especially susceptible. We equate speed with success and waiting with weakness. We've internalized the startup mantra: move fast, break things. But what if we're breaking ourselves and our relationships in the process?

History: How We Got Here

Our modern obsession with rushing didn't appear overnight. We live in a world that increasingly worships efficiency and immediacy:

• Fast food

• Express lanes

• Speed dating

• Quick fixes

• Overnight shipping

• Instant messaging

• On-demand everything

We've engineered waiting out of existence, and in doing so, we've forgotten how to simply be present.

For my generation of entrepreneurs, patience feels like a liability rather than a virtue. We're surrounded by stories of overnight successes and rapid scaling. What we don't see are the years of steady work and incremental growth behind those "sudden" breakthroughs.

Awareness: The Hidden Costs

The price of perpetual rushing isn't just personal stress—it's paid in moments missed and connections compromised.

This is especially evident in a bedtime routine for parents. It should be a special time because you won't have many of them. When you consider how long your kids will live with you compared to how long you and your kids will share this planet, it puts things in perspective. Yet often, it's just a rush to get to bed. We say, "Let's go, let's go, let's go! It's time for bed!" instead of cherishing that moment for what it truly is: unique, special, finite, and timeless.

But we do rush. We hurry to do what, exactly? To sit on the couch, scroll through our phones, or watch Netflix? What are we rushing for? The answer is nothing, and in doing so, we miss something truly amazing. This isn't just about organization or productivity; it's about valuing time in a deeper sense.

That is an example of a moment that forced me to acknowledge what my rushing habit was actually costing:

1. Fragmented attention: When I'm rushing, I'm never fully present. My mind is already at the destination while my body is still on the journey.

2. Diminished joy: Rushing creates a narrow focus on completion rather than experience. The milestone matters more than the path.

3. Damaged relationships: My hurry sends unintended messages to those around me—that my agenda is more important than our connection.

4. Artificial urgency: Most of what I rush for isn't actually urgent. I've created artificial deadlines that exist only in my mind.

5. Lost perspective: When I'm racing to the next thing, I lose sight of what actually matters in the grand tapestry of life.

The reality? Most of these objectives I rush toward will be forgotten shortly after achieving them. They'll be celebrated by no one, cared about by no one but me, and yet they create unnecessary worry and stress.

New Approach: Embracing the Unhurried Path

What would happen if we deliberately slowed down?

I've been experimenting with this concept over the past few months. Not procrastination or laziness, but intentional unhurrying.

It is as simple as telling myself, "There is no rush."

When we rush through life, we're often chasing what I've come to call "the mirage of arrival." It's that imagined future moment when everything will finally feel complete—when we'll have "made it." We convince ourselves that once we reach that promotion, close that deal, finish that project, or get the kids into that school, life will finally slow down and satisfaction will arrive.

But here's what I've discovered: arrival is an illusion. Each destination simply reveals a new horizon, a new mountain to climb, a new finish line to cross. The rush becomes perpetual. The mind that's trained to race toward completion never actually experiences completion—it only resets its targets.

The cruel irony is that in racing toward these moments of supposed arrival, we miss the actual living that happens in between. The meaningful conversations with our children, the creative breakthroughs that require mental space, the depth of relationship that can only develop in unhurried presence—these are the very things we sacrifice in our rush to reach destinations that ultimately prove hollow.

Here's what I'm learning about walking the unhurried path:

Choose presence over productivity. When I'm with my children, I'm trying to be fully with them—not partially there while mentally checking off tomorrow's to-do list.

Recognize false urgency. I've started asking myself: "What's the actual consequence of being five minutes later? Of not getting the closest parking spot? Of letting someone else go first?" Usually, the answer is: absolutely nothing.

Create buffer zones. Instead of scheduling meetings back-to-back, I'm building in transition time. Those extra 15 minutes between commitments aren't "wasted"—they're investments in mental clarity and emotional presence.

Embrace the wait. Those moments in line or in traffic that once felt like productivity thieves? They're now opportunities for reflection, for deep breaths, for noticing the world around me.

Let go of first place. There's a peculiar freedom in deliberately choosing not to compete in life's small races—for parking spots, checkout lines, or restaurant tables.

Three Practices to Try This Week

If you're intrigued by this unhurried approach, here are three concrete practices you can begin implementing immediately:

1. The Sacred Pause: Before responding to any non-emergency request or obligation, institute a 30-second pause. Just breathe, consider what's actually needed, and respond from a place of choice rather than reaction. I've found this tiny buffer prevents me from automatically saying "I'll do it right away" when "I'll get to this tomorrow" might be perfectly acceptable.

2. The Daily Unhurry: Identify one routine activity each day—your morning coffee, the commute home, a regular walk—and deliberately slow it down by 50%. Don't just do it slower; truly experience it differently. Notice textures, sounds, and sensations you typically miss. This isn't about the activity itself but about retraining your nervous system to exist in an unhurried state. What's fascinating is how this single slowed-down activity begins to influence other parts of your day.

3. The "What's the Rush?" Question: Make this your new mantra. Whenever you catch yourself accelerating—physically or mentally—toward some objective, pause and literally ask yourself: "What's the rush?" Not rhetorically, but as a genuine inquiry. What specifically will happen if this takes longer? What am I afraid of missing? What am I avoiding by hurrying? This simple question has revealed surprising insights about my underlying anxieties and has disarmed countless unnecessary rushes before they gained momentum.

Growth: What Changes When We Slow Down

The shift has been subtle but significant.

I have started to let situations happen and unfold instead of ushering it along at a frantic pace.

By stepping back and letting things happen—letting the cards fall where they may—I've noticed:

Reduced stress. The constant low-grade anxiety of rushing has begun to dissolve. My shoulders literally sit lower.

Increased connection. When I'm not racing to the next thing, I'm available for the spontaneous moments that often matter most—the unexpected conversations, the genuine laughter, the silent understanding.

Enhanced creativity. Some of my best business insights now come during what would have previously been "wasted" time—the long walk, the leisurely coffee, the unhurried commute.

Greater perspective. The small stuff stays small when I'm not artificially inflating its importance through unnecessary urgency.

More joy. Simply put, life is more enjoyable when I'm actually present for it.

Emphasis: The Counterintuitive Truth

Here's what I'm slowly accepting: rushing rarely gets us where we truly want to go.

We rush because we believe it will help us accomplish more, experience more, live more. But the math doesn't add up. When we rush:

• We see less

• We feel less

• We connect less

• We remember less

• We enjoy less

The great paradox is that by slowing down, we don't get less done—we get the right things done. We don't experience less life—we experience it more fully.

This isn't about abandoning ambition or embracing complacency. It's about recognizing that our most meaningful achievements and deepest relationships aren't built on the foundation of hurry.

As entrepreneurs and parents, perhaps our greatest contribution won't be measured in milestones reached or efficiencies gained, but in moments fully lived and connections genuinely forged.

What I'm Still Learning

I'm not cured of my rushing habit. I still feed the pull to go, go, go, but it has gotten better.

Breaking free from the tyranny of rush is a daily practice, not a one-time decision. Some days I succeed, others I fail. But I'm committed to the journey.

Why do we behave this way in the first place? I've been reflecting on this question lately. Perhaps it stems from our deep-seated fear of wasting our finite time. Perhaps it's our attempt to control an uncontrollable world. Or maybe it's simply the momentum of living in a society that equates speed with value.

Whatever the roots, the remedy seems to be the same: conscious choice, again and again, to value presence over pace.

Questions for Reflection

As you consider your own relationship with rushing, here are some questions that have helped me gain clarity:

1. What am I actually rushing toward? When you feel that familiar urgency rising, pause and name the destination. Is it truly important? Will it matter in a month? A year? Five years?

2. What's the worst that could happen if I slow down here? Play out the scenario. Often, the catastrophic consequences we imagine ("Everyone will think I'm incompetent!" "I'll miss out completely!") dissolve under scrutiny.

3. Who taught me to rush through this particular activity? Our patterns often have origins—a parent who was always running late, a first boss who equated speed with value, a culture that celebrates the "hustle." Identifying these influences can loosen their grip.

4. What am I missing when I rush through this moment? Consider what exists in the margins, in the spaces between the obvious. What conversations, observations, or feelings might be available if you weren't racing past them?

5. Where in my life am I already comfortable with an unhurried pace? We all have areas where we naturally take our time. What can these teach us about bringing that same quality to more hurried domains?

As we move into another busy week, I invite you to join me in this counter-cultural experiment. Where can you choose to unhurry? What might you notice if you simply slowed down?

I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Diego

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