$pent Millennial

Dear Reader,

Whose race are you running?

Are you winning?

And does it even matter if you are?

This past week, I was driving home from work in a hurry to get there—to begin the rest of my afternoon, to reclaim the part of the day that felt like mine.

On the drive, I realized I needed gas. There were also a few things I could pick up from the store. Immediately, my mind began calculating the fastest route, the smartest stop, the most efficient way to get it all done.

Because where I really wanted to be was home.

Home to walk my dog in the nice weather, headphones in, podcast playing. Home to my unwinding time. My exhale.

I decided the store could wait. But the gas could not.

Annoying, because the station I first thought of would have taken me out of my way and into heavier traffic. More time. More hassle. More delay.

Then I remembered another station I would pass naturally on my route. Perfect. No detour. No wasted motion.

And then I nearly missed it.

Driving on autopilot, I almost went right past the turn. Just as I realized it, the light ahead turned yellow. I had to slow down and stop. Under my breath, I cursed the delay.

But as I sat there waiting, I looked to my right and remembered: the gas station was right there.

The very slowdown I was irritated by was the thing that kept me from missing what I needed.

I laughed to myself.

And then I wondered: even if not for the gas, what is the big deal about waiting one minute for a light to change?

Where are we all going in such a hurry that a brief pause—to breathe, to think, to simply be—feels unbearable? Why do we tense at red lights, resent lines, rush through moments, and treat every delay like an insult?

Whose race are we running?

Standing there pumping gas on the side of the county highway with “Just a small town girl…” playing over the speakers, I realized that maybe the slowdown was about more than traffic. Maybe it was a metaphor for the deeper shifts I have been making in my own life this past year.

Over the last several years, I stepped into big roles. Dream-job titles. Leadership positions. The kinds of opportunities that sound impressive in introductions, look sharp on resumes, and earn approving nods across conference tables.

They were exciting. They were upward. They were ambitious.

And truthfully, they also felt good. The long days. The pressure. The rooms I had to grow into. The challenge of pretending I belonged until eventually I did.

The climb felt natural to me because I have been climbing for as long as I can remember. High-achiever. Gifted and talented. Full of potential. Those labels can become identities if you are not careful.

Achievement becomes the role you play. Motion becomes proof of worth. Progress becomes something you perform for other people.

And somewhere along the way, I never stopped to ask:

Do I even want this?

Is this success—or just momentum?

Is this my race?

Recently, I have taken on roles that feel quieter. More grounded. Still meaningful, still worthy, still important—but less shiny. Less prestigious. Less likely to impress strangers.

And if I am honest, that has felt strange. Sometimes even boring. Sometimes like I am disappearing a little.

When conversations drift toward leadership titles or career ladders, I can still feel that old reflex rise up in me. The urge to get back in those rooms. Back at those tables. Back on the track.

To ask myself: What move do I need to make next? How do I climb again?

But this week, I wondered if the slowdown is not a punishment. Not a failure. Not me falling behind.

Maybe it is a gift.

Maybe it is the yellow light that keeps me from speeding past something I actually need.

Because slowing down may not always bring status or applause, but it creates something more valuable: space.

Space to breathe.

Space to notice.

Space to choose.

Space to enjoy a life instead of constantly optimizing one.

This week, that space has looked like morning yoga. Nature walks before work. Hugs from kiddos while volunteering at after-school programs. Dog walks in the evening sun. Phone calls with family. Time with my partner and pup. Weekends not already consumed by overflow work or networking obligations.

None of it would impress LinkedIn.

All of it has made me feel rich.

This week, I have been reevaluating the race I am running—and the pace I want to run it at.

Maybe I do not need to sprint. Maybe I do not need to compete. Maybe I do not even need to run at all.

Maybe I just need to choose my own path and walk it with intention.

I hope you get the chance to ask yourself the same questions.

And whatever race you run, I hope it is one you chose for yourself.

Until next week- ttake care and be well,

Everett