The Year I Learned to Stop Rushing

I recently came across a series of posts about Italian ways of living (sigh, even the thought of that just sounds dreamy to me). Things like slow down, enjoy simple pleasures, trust timing and embrace enough instead of always chasing more. I found myself returning to them again and again, feeling an almost uncomfortable sense of familiarity.

It took me a while to understand why.

The concepts themselves weren't new to me. What felt familiar was the realization that I had spent the better part of the last year learning those lessons firsthand. Not through travel or some carefully curated lifestyle philosophy, but through one of the most uncomfortable and uncertain seasons of my life.

If you've been following along with my blog, you'll know I've written extensively about what I've come to call my pivot. On the surface, it looked like a career transition. In reality, it became something much bigger. It forced me to examine how I move through the world, how I respond to uncertainty, and how much of my identity had become wrapped up in achievement, productivity, and the belief that if I worked hard enough, I could influence almost any outcome.

For most of my adult life, that belief served me well. I built a career on it. I took risks because of it. I recovered from setbacks because of it. Whenever life presented a problem, my instinct was to take action (with the occasional wallowing in self-pity). If something wasn't working, I worked harder. If I felt uncertain, I made a plan. If a door closed, I immediately started looking for the next one.

The challenge, however, is that eventually life hands you situations that don't respond to effort in the way you're accustomed to.

No amount of planning could speed up finding the right role.

No amount of worrying could provide answers that weren't yet available.

No amount of productivity could quiet anxiety or eliminate uncertainty.

For perhaps the first time in my life, I found myself in a season where the lesson wasn't movement. It was patience.

And if I'm being honest, I hated that lesson at first because I was just so accustomed to going all the time. To-do list after to-do list, project after project, goal after goal. Sitting still felt unnatural. Waiting felt inefficient. Trusting that things would unfold in their own time felt like a terrible strategy.

I wanted answers. I wanted clarity. I wanted the next chapter to reveal itself immediately so I could get on with it. Instead, I found myself sitting in the uncomfortable space between what was and what would be, trying to trust that something would eventually emerge from the uncertainty. Looking back now, I can see that the waiting itself was doing important work. At the time, though, it simply felt frustrating, with no end in sight.

One of the Italian concepts that struck me most was Fare con Calma, which roughly translates to "do it with calm." The idea isn't about moving slowly for the sake of moving slowly. It's about approaching life without unnecessary urgency. Reading that, I realized how much of my life had been driven by urgency, even when there was no real reason for it. Somewhere along the way, I had started equating speed with competence and productivity with value. The faster I moved, the more in control I felt. The more in control I felt, the safer I felt.

The pivot challenged that relationship entirely.

When I first came across those Italian philosophies, I thought I was reading about a different way of living. What I realize now is that I was reading about a different way of seeing.

The lessons themselves weren't new. They had been showing up throughout the pivot, in the waiting, the uncertainty, the therapy sessions, the difficult decisions, the friendships that carried me through, and the moments when life refused to move according to my carefully constructed timeline.

What surprised me most was realizing how many of these lessons had quietly woven themselves into every corner of my life.

They showed up in motherhood, where I slowly began to understand that my son didn't need a mother who could anticipate every problem before it happened. He needed a mother who could let him grow, make mistakes, and discover who he was becoming without trying to protect him from every possible disappointment.

They showed up in friendships, where I found myself craving depth over obligation and wanting to spend more time with people who felt like home rather than filling my calendar simply because I could.

They showed up in my marriage, where I've come to appreciate that the best relationships aren't built through grand gestures but through the small, ordinary moments that quietly accumulate over time.

And they showed up in my career, where I finally stopped chasing opportunities that looked right on paper and started paying closer attention to what actually felt right. Following my gut on this one and boy am I glad I did.

Looking back, I can see that this season was never really about finding the next job, fixing my anxiety, or figuring out what came next. It was about learning to trust myself, trust the timing of my life, and trust that not every unanswered question requires immediate action.

For someone who spent much of her life believing the answer was to push harder, that may be the biggest lesson of all.

A few thoughts I want to leave you with:

• Take the pause if life gives it to you. Resist the urge to immediately fill every empty space with busyness, noise, or the next thing on the list. Some of the most important answers arrived when I stopped forcing them, while sitting in the very uncomfortable wait.

• Trust your instincts more than your fear. Looking back, there were several moments when I already knew the answer. What delayed things wasn't a lack of clarity, it was my willingness to argue with myself.

• Get the support you need. For me, therapy was a life preserver and continues to be one. There is strength in asking for help, perspective, and guidance when you're navigating uncertain territory.

• Pay attention to the signs. Throughout this pivot, there were conversations, opportunities, books, and moments that arrived at exactly the right time. Whether you call it intuition, faith, timing, or something else, I learned to start paying attention to them.

• Stay open to learning. Some of the most valuable lessons came from places I wasn't expecting. Growth rarely arrives exactly how we think it will.

• Stop trying to rush to the next chapter. Life isn't waiting for you on the other side of the goal, the promotion, the answer, or the achievement. It's happening while you're busy trying to get there.

• Don't underestimate the power of "enough." Not every season needs to be about more. Sometimes the most meaningful growth comes from appreciating what is already right in front of you.

• Remember that uncertainty isn't a problem to solve. Sometimes it's simply a season to move through with a little more patience, trust, and grace.

And while I still have goals, ambitions, and a healthy appreciation for a good to-do list, I'm no longer in quite such a hurry to get to the next chapter.

These days, I'm trying a little harder to enjoy the one I'm already in.