I’ve heard this sentence a few times:
“The way we do one thing is the way we do almost everything else.”
But I never truly let it sink in not until this trip, when I finally slowed down enough to observe myself.
Timmy (our camper van) is moving, the scenery constantly changing.
But inside me, there’s a strange stillness.
No music. No conversation. Just me, my breath, and my thoughts as I drive.
It’s during these quiet moments that I started to notice something:
How I drive reflects how I live.
For example, every time I pass a truck, my adrenaline kicks in.
I hit the gas, trying to overtake it as fast as I can, like there’s no other way.
But recently, I caught myself trying something new:
Just slowly passing not rushing, not pressing, and it worked.
It felt weird… but possible.
Why do I always rush?
Maybe that’s just my internal operating system, programmed to get things done fast, without asking why.
Whether it’s speeding through a yellow light, making a sharp turn, or pushing past what’s “in my way” I’ve always reacted immediately, forcefully.
And it used to feel powerful. Efficient. Even enjoyable.
But then came Timmy a 2014 van who doesn’t respond well to my speed-loving instincts.
On highways, I can’t push Timmy to 120 km/h even if I want to.
I have to consider his capacity, not just my will.
My partner once told me:
“The way you drive isn’t good.”
I used to brush that off.
But now I get it, it’s not about being a “bad” driver in terms of rules.
It’s that I’ve never been a good companion to the vehicle.
Just like… I haven’t been a good companion to my body either.
I’ve always forced my body to match my will
Pushing her to keep going, to perform, to produce
Without ever asking: What do you need right now?
I saw her as a machine to carry out my mind’s orders.
But like Timmy, she has her limits.
She’s not built for constant acceleration.
She deserves kindness. Listening. Patience.
I realize now: I’ve been too focused on the road ahead,
On what’s in the way the truck, the slowness, the obstacles
Instead of tuning into the resources I already have.
Sometimes we can go fast.
Other times, we need to go slow to go far.
Recently, I set the cruise control to 105 km/h.
No racing, no surging, no drama.
If I need to pass, I simply glide to the left lane and let Timmy cruise past at his pace.
It’s smoother. Simpler. More enjoyable.
This new way of driving feels unfamiliar.
But with time, I’m adapting.
I’m okay with going slow.
I rest when my body needs it.
I don’t resist her signals anymore.
And you know what?
I’m finally learning to cooperate not just with Timmy, but with myself.
Because when we become better drivers of our own lives,
we stop rushing past the most important parts.
We learn to move with ourselves, not against.
And that’s how we go farther — gently, steadily, truthfully.