We’re supposed to be in control of our daily lives. But too often, we let our daily lives control us. As a business owner, husband and father, Brian knows that all too well.
In Chapter 5, “Don’t Rush, Dad,” Brian shows how his son, Logan, uses three simple words to help his dad slow down, prioritize, and enjoy the world around him.
I admit it. I’m often in a hurry. Sometimes, I’m in such a hurry that it doesn’t feel like I’m in a hurry. I just get numb to the speed of life as I juggle the roles of businessman, husband and father.
It’s not lost on the people around me, though. I often get told that I need to slow down and listen. But at work, you can only slow down so much. I run a business, and I’m needed everywhere at just about any given time. You can ignore your co-workers’ pleas to slow down without much guilt. But when
your family starts telling you — especially your young child — it’s much harder to dismiss.
It hit home one Saturday morning when Logan and I were making one of our weekly shopping trips. We were running to a couple of different stores, getting the car washed, going to the dry cleaners and running a bunch of other errands. Each was a small, nagging detail that was going to be pulling at the hair
on the back of my head until I saw it through to completion.
I must have been coming across as a hurried, flustered and frustrated father, because Logan finally piped up. He was sitting in his car seat watching yet another weekly dance with the weekend errands, when he spoke up:
“Don’t rush, Dad. Just slow down.”
I don’t know what hit me harder — such an astute observation from a young boy or the self-realization that I am in too much of a rush, and I shouldn’t deny the fact that sometimes I do feel overburdened by the constraints of my schedule.
I suddenly felt a small vein of guilt well up in my stomach. Logan was a small boy at the time, but soon — before I was ready for it to happen, probably — he’d be starting school. Then he’d start grade school. Then middle school, high school and college. Then he’d get married and have his own kids and
I’d be a gray-haired grandpa wondering where the last 30 years went. If I wasn’t careful, I could look back and see a lifetime of errands and responsibilities, with few meaningful memories to show for it.