Moving at Geological Speed

These days, I move a little slower myself.

Some of that comes from disability.
Some of it comes from getting older.
And some of it comes from living through enough hard moments to realize not everything needs to happen at full speed.

Because of that, I see the world a little differently now.

I used to get irritated watching retirees inch through parking lots like they had nowhere to be for the next thousand years. One careful step at a time. Shopping carts moving with all the urgency of continental drift.

Now?

I get it.

When your body hurts, balance matters.
When your brain has been through trauma, rushing has consequences.
When you’ve survived enough life, speed stops feeling impressive.

People don’t always see what slower movement costs someone.

They just see “in the way.”

They don’t see:

• the careful footing
• the dizziness
• the joint pain
• the exhaustion
• the mental calculations happening every second

Sometimes getting through a grocery store is the workout.

Sometimes just being upright in public is the victory.

And when you’re older and disabled, you become both things at once: the retiree moving at geological speed and the person silently trying to make it through the day without falling down.

That changes your perspective.

You start noticing how rushed everyone is.
How impatient the world has become.
How uncomfortable people get when someone can’t move at full speed anymore.

But here’s the truth:

Slower does not mean lesser.

Some of the strongest people you’ll ever meet move carefully because they have to. Every trip outside the house is planned. Every ounce of energy matters. Every good day is appreciated differently.

There’s also something freeing about no longer worshipping speed.

You stop racing quite so hard.
You notice more.
You breathe more.
You realize most things people panic about can wait another thirty seconds in the King Soopers parking lot.

The funny part is, somewhere along the way, I became that guy.

The one moving a little slower through the parking lot.
The one thinking carefully before stepping off a curb.
The one people impatiently steer around with their carts.

Years ago, I probably would’ve noticed someone like me and thought:
“Come on, man…”

Now I understand there’s usually a story behind the slower pace.

Sometimes it’s age.
Sometimes it’s injury.
Sometimes it’s survival.

A lot of people are carrying more than you can see from ten feet away in a grocery store parking lot.

So yeah.

I am that guy now.

And honestly, I’m just grateful I’m still moving at all.