Resisting the sense of urgency
Unlearning conditioning, being in the moment, and living on puppy time
Last week I was feeling a sense of urgency rising up in me. The feeling of wanting to keep up, get to the end, and make it all make sense. The antidote to this feeling is to bring my awareness to my breath.
I can credit my past lives spent in the restaurant industry and in the car business for making me an expert at responding to urgency
I remember training to work in fine dining; during lunch, our trainer brought out plates of hot food and sat it in front of all the staff, who had no utensils to eat it with.
She loudly clapped and shouted, counting the seconds until the fork arrived: 1…2…3…. The lesson— thirty seconds feels like a long time when you’re hungry and waiting for a fork.
In finance, time is literally money. A customer who leaves because you didn’t get them the interest rate they asked for in time can cost you thousands of dollars. Consistently work at a too-slow pace, and it could be thousands a day.
Nearly seven years out of that life, my body remembers.
Working with the spirit world, time moves differently, but I am still programmed to urgency. I need to be aware of it. At the beginning of a mediumship session, it’s tempting to take a quicker breath before I begin, to fill my lungs only part way, but then I risk not fully connecting.
When that sense of urgency comes up while I’m working as a medium, it’s sometimes in response to feeling like I need to say something profound, have the answer, or get to the end. Tie up those loose ends perfectly. It always requires me to go back to my breath, to slow down, to presence myself.
The present moment is the only time mediumship can occur. It can not happen if I’m worrying or rushing.
I notice in teaching, coaching, or holding space for a friend, there is urgency sometimes in the waiting. Maybe they are telling me a story or asking for advice, and my reaction is to want to get to the end, to resolve or fix things. On the surface, it seems that I want to make the other person feel better, but really, it is my own discomfort. I want to make myself feel more at ease. I am programmed to be uncomfortable with other's discomfort and I often can literally feel it.
I notice my jaw tensing or my stomach becoming upset and have to come back to myself and affirm that these are not my emotions. The sensations do not belong to me.
When we respond to urgency, we can interrupt the process and the healing.
Sometimes, we need to let people speak and share their pain. Sometimes, the spirit world shares evidence that someone is not expecting, and they need to consider it before responding. We have to simply be there and trust.
It is not always as simple as bringing a fork to someone with hot food.
I talk a lot about understanding anxiety vs intuition in my work, courses, and book. Urgency is a hallmark of anxiety. That inner voice that says, “Hurry up and fix this! Quick, you are missing out!”
Intuition just moves you. It is low and slow. Gentle nudges. A firm hand on the shoulder. My anxious nature, my urgent conditioning, says hurry, hurry, there is no time to waste!
My soul knows that the process is the entire point of being here.
It’s not concerned with the outcome but the experience and the precious details of life.
So, I try to orient myself towards the details. The moments I am alive rather than the achievements of my efforts.
I let myself make eye contact. I notice how my body takes on the emotions of those around me.
I ask myself the sacred question, “How can I be helpful today?”
I remind myself that this moment is all that exists. Often, my presence and allowing myself to be moved by love and intuition is enough.
Right now, I am living on puppy time. Jubilee has a schedule of being awake for two hours and asleep for two hours. For the two hours, he is awake, I play with him, snuggle with him, walk him up and down the street, and try to exhaust him. I try to teach him my language. He sits at attention each time the commuter rail goes by, shaking the ground. I make eye contact and say, “Train.” Now, when I say it, he looks towards the tracks.
I often consider how strange it must be to be a puppy. To be brand new in the world. He is far more advanced than a human baby at three months old, but everything in the world is new, exciting, and a bit terrifying. We go to stores and busy streets and try to see as many new sights as possible so he’ll be well-adjusted and not fearful of the world. Yesterday, he saw balloons for the first time and jumped backward in fear and then forward in delight.
He runs into his bed (crate) after two hours of playtime, ready to chomp on a peanut butter cookie and settle in for a nap. He knows when he wakes up I will be there to greet him, coo while he stretches, and we’ll go for another adventure.
The other day, I was heading home from my office, and the thought gripped me: what if something happened to me and I couldn’t get to him in time? What if there was a fire and he was trapped? I notice that my anxiety often starts with “what if.”
Puppies don’t consider these things. He is always in the moment. Playing, exploring, or resting deeply in a warm bed.
I bring myself back to a slow, deep inhale. I stay in the present. I move my awareness to what is happening and away from what’s not. I let go of urgency.
Then, I can consider what a gift it is to have something to love and care for. What a gift it is to be able to share these feelings of love and fear with you.
Wishing you your own moments of deep rest, love, and care.
With love,
Sheryl
Thank you, friend. Your sharing makes a difference.
I get a perverse amount of joy listening to your voiceover readings. Thank you 🥺💓🥹✨ here’s to more rest, love, and puppy time 🐶