Because most men are afraid of what they'll feel if they do.
I know that sounds dramatic, but I think it's true. Speed is a coping mechanism. If I keep moving, I don't have to sit with myself. If I keep producing, I don't have to ask whether any of it matters. If I stay busy, I stay ahead of the quiet — the quiet that asks questions I don't want to answer.
I did this for decades. I always had a project, a task, a next thing. I filled every margin. And I told myself I was being productive, diligent, a hard worker. Some of that was true. But a lot of it was avoidance.
When I finally slowed down — not by choice, but because my body forced me — everything I'd been running from caught up. The grief, the questions, the loneliness. It was hard. But it was also the first time in years I could actually hear myself think. And what I heard, underneath all the noise, was a man asking: who am I when I'm not doing anything?
That question changed my life. But I had to stop moving to hear it.
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