Growing up, I learned to read a room fast.

My dad had a short temper, and I became quick; quick to sense a shift, quick to react, quick to make up my mind about a person or a situation before I'd actually sat with it.

I carried that into my twenties without ever questioning it.

I climbed the career ladder fast. Made friends fast. Said yes to every night out, every drink, every chance to be seen as the social butterfly. Busy felt like proof I was winning at life.

Slow felt like failing.

Any time life actually went quiet, I got uncomfortable.
I didn't know what to do with stillness, so I filled it. Constantly.

Look at how we live now:
An instant taxi, a few taps away.
A match, one swipe.
Dinner delivered before you've even decided what you're hungry for.

Speed is the default setting of modern life.
And underneath all of it is a lie: if you're not moving fast, you're falling behind.

I believed that lie completely.
I didn't have a deeper purpose underneath my busyness, so motion became the substitute. Moving fast felt like progress, even when it wasn't actually going anywhere.

Luke 10 tells the story of two sisters, Martha and Mary, hosting Jesus in their home. Martha was busy with preparations. Mary sat at Jesus's feet and simply paid attention.

Martha eventually snapped, asking Jesus to tell Mary to help her. His response is worth sitting with slowly.

"Martha, Martha, you are worried and upset about many things, but few things are needed, or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her" (Luke 10:41-42).

Martha wasn't doing anything wrong technically. She was serving...
But her busyness had replaced her presence.
Jesus didn't correct her effort.
He corrected what her effort had cost her.

James 1:19 gives a short, direct instruction most of us skip past too quickly to actually apply.

"Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry."

I used to be the opposite of all three.
Quick to speak. Quick to react. Quick to decide how I felt about something before I'd actually observed it.

This isn't about suppressing what you feel.
It's about creating space between what happens and how you respond to it, space I never had growing up, and space I had to learn as an adult.

At 33, when I became a Christian, the first thing I had to do wasn't move forward. It was look back.

I took a long, honest look at my life up to that point…
My character. My friendships. My choices.
None of it was aligned with the woman I actually wanted to become.

That was the first time in my adult life I actually observed instead of reacted.
I had to see the gap clearly before I could ever close it.

1. Build in a pause before you react. Emotionally, or in decision-making. Even a few seconds of space changes what comes out of you next.

2. Ask what your busyness is actually replacing. Is it purpose, or is it avoidance of stillness you don't know how to sit in.

3. Choose presence over productivity, at least once this week. Let one thing stay undone so you can actually be somewhere, the way Mary chose to stay seated.

4. Observe your own patterns honestly, the way you'd observe someone else's. Without defending them. Without rushing to fix them. Just see them clearly first.

Observing isn't passive. It's often the most honest work you'll ever do, because it requires you to actually look, instead of just keep moving.

With love and faith,
Zena