WEEK 19: Urgency Is a Lie We Tell Ourselves to Feel Safe
- Glen Jensen
- May 20
- 3 min read
Updated: May 27
Urgency is often just fear in a better outfit.
What If Fast Isn’t Forward?

Slowing down isn’t weak.
It’s wise.
Back in Week 1, we began unlearning the myth that constant motion equals real progress.
Now, nearly five months in, it’s time to go deeper:
What if the drive to speed up is actually a signal to slow down?
When Speed Becomes a Shield

Chronic urgency - especially the kind you generate yourself - can hijack your nervous system.
You start moving fast not because you're clear…
but because you're afraid to feel.
In Week 7, we named the trap: burnout can masquerade as devotion.
Together, they point to a deeper thread - we’ve confused acceleration with safety.
There’s urgency that saves lives.
And then there’s urgency that just saves you from stillness.
TL;DR — Let This One Sink In
No time to read? Perfect.
Just remember this:
Urgency is often just fear dressed as productivity.
Slowness is a skill.
If all you do is pause once today—and subtract one thing instead of adding—you’ve already started.
Let it land.
Your nervous system will catch up.
The Illusion of Drive

Not all motion is momentum.
Some of it is escape.
Week 10 introduced nervous system literacy - how your body signals what’s safe, not just what’s smart.
This week, we go a level deeper: into your pace.
Because when your body outruns your clarity,
you’re not leading.
You’re leaving yourself behind.
How to Slow Without Stopping

This week’s experiment is simple: The Brake Check Protocol.
Twice a day, pause to ask:
What’s driving me—excitement or anxiety?
Is this pace sustainable, or am I borrowing from tomorrow?
If I weren’t afraid of falling behind, what would I choose next?
Then—subtract one thing from your day.
Even a small one.
As we learned in Week 12: Small moves shift entire systems.
This isn’t about giving up progress.
It’s about returning to coherence - where your body, mind, and mission move as one.
Bonus layer: Check your body.
Where is urgency sitting - your jaw? Chest? Gut?
Loosen that grip.
Feel the difference between motion and tension.
The Curve Always Comes

A race car feels smooth at 200 mph - until you hit the curve.
Momentum without control isn’t mastery.
It’s roulette.
Contrast that with a kayak in still water:
Slow. Steady. Responsive.
Still arriving.
We began building this internal cadence back in Week 5 - when we stopped outsourcing our rhythm to other people’s timelines.
This week, we anchor it.
Slowness Is a Skill

Tape it where you’ll see it mid-scroll.
Mid-rush.
Mid-reaction.
Let it interrupt the default.
Because by Week 15, we saw what happens when calibration meets discipline:
you begin to trust yourself - without a finish line.
Reading That Reclaims Your Rhythm

In an Unspoken Voice
— Peter Levine
A quietly brilliant guide to how trauma, urgency, and the need to rush fracture your capacity.
If your foot’s been on the gas too long—this book explains why.
The Room You’ve Been Avoiding
“All men’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone.”
—Pascal
Or maybe:
“Wherever I am…to be blessed.”
—Mary Oliver
We spend our lives trying to earn stillness.
But you don’t have to earn it.
You just have to enter it.
One Soft Interruption at a Time

Real strength isn’t how much you can hold.
It’s how gently you can hold yourself.
Let go of the myth that hustle makes you worthy.
That stillness must be earned.
That rest equals retreat.
This week, find one moment each day:
Catch the urge to rush.
Interrupt it—softly.
Respond with breath.
With choice.
This is how regulation grows.
One unhurried decision at a time.
The Power You Don’t Have to Prove

You’ve been building quiet power all season.
Each week a calibration.
Each prompt a soft reorientation.
This one asks you to prove nothing - except that you know when to pause.
If you need reminders:
Week 5 planted your rhythm.
Week 10 gave you regulation.
Week 15 showed you how to hold it.
Next week, we soften even more.
No hustle.
No harvest.
Just the quiet rituals that ask nothing of us - except presence.
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