A few years ago, Lane and a few friends of ours slipped away to a mountain cabin for a few days where sleep, trivia games, true crime documentaries, and cozy dinners in the North Georgia Mountains were the only things on the agenda.
We were off the grid and recharging our batteries.
Waking up that first morning in the cabin, I lazily poured myself a cup of coffee and heaped some eggs and bacon onto a plate. Within that first bite of eggs, I could tell these eggs were some of the best eggs of my entire existence. And let me tell you, I eat a lot of eggs.
“Hoke, what did you do to make these eggs so amazing?” I asked. They were cheesy and fluffy, with the perfect, creamy texture.
“Nothing really,” he said. “I just cooked them slowly.”
I’d seen him do this before. He stood by the stove for a solid 25 minutes, patiently stirring the eggs as they cooked on low. The process felt tedious as I watched it, but I now had firsthand evidence that the end result was glorious—something to behold.
I’ll admit I’m not the most patient person in the world. Most of my prayers involve a petition for more patience. At that point in my life, I was used to operating at a fast pace. An occasion like breakfast was not necessarily what I wanted to spend my time on. I’d crank up the heat on our stove and cook the morning eggs in five minutes or less. And, as far as I could tell, the eggs were pretty good.
But it wasn’t until I had the slow eggs that I realized I was missing out on something entirely better.
A few mornings later, Novi picked at her waffles while sitting in her high chair, and I stood by the stove attempting my first batch of slow, cheesy eggs. And my friend wasn’t kidding, it’s a process. You have to stand there and stir, then stand there and stir some more until your eggs reach the right consistency.
As I gently guided the eggs around the frying pan, I thought about how much of life is potentially meant to be this way. We need slowness, but we neglect it. Slowness makes for greatness, makes beautiful things come together, and produces the best results. Yet, our culture demands things at a frenetic pace.
As a writer, I must remind myself to slow down and enjoy the creation process, resisting the urge to press “publish” because I think there’s some external race, and I need to keep up somehow. Greatness takes time, I tell myself. It takes so much time.
The best novels aren’t written in a day.
The most beautiful paintings aren’t created in a rush.
The most delectable meals are not popped in the microwave.
Most mornings, I sit down in my chair to write, and there’s pressure (self-inflicted) to make every word shine. It takes the joy out of the process.
But then I remind myself that this is a slow process. It takes time to simmer, to think, to marinate, and to allow things to form on the page that I would never see if I were only ever seeking a finished product.
Creation is a process. Growth involves many stops, stalls, and periods of waiting along the way. This should not discourage us—it should push us to want to grow more and experience all the stops, stalls, and waiting as they arrive in full force.
This isn’t just for creators, though. So much of life– the good, good stuff– takes time.
Parenting. Building a life you love. Tending to relationships. Keeping a home. Investing in your health. Rhythms and routines.
You can try to rush it, but ultimately, greatness takes time.
It’s okay to stand by the stove and slowly stir the eggs.
It’s okay to take the backroads.
It’s okay to connect more organically.
It’s okay to forge a vision for yourself slowly.
It’s okay to pause and wait and listen and meander.
It’s okay to scrap the world’s expectations and learn to linger in what you already are– a child of God. A beloved child of God.
Lately, I wish I could go back and tell my younger self this: Slow down, babe. This rat race isn’t for you. They’ll keep hustling– but you can take the backroads. Dare to take the scenic route. Dedicate yourself to the winding, imperfect process above the need for instant results, and all the world will start to unfold and open up to you. I have a feeling it will be more beautiful than you can even dare to imagine.
Stop romanticizing deadlines, hustle culture, and “overnight success” and, instead, figure out how to lean into the slow burn, the gradual process, and the everyday victories. Greatness may be slow, but the best stories are often written one word at a time.
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