I am driving to work and stop at a red light where there are five cars in front of me. I watch the light intently, waiting for it to change to green. Every traffic light is like the start of a drag race for me. I am exasperated when the cars in front of me do not immediately hit the gas when the light changes. Are they waiting for a different shade of green?

 I am at the mall with my wife on a busy Saturday. She wants to go to the Anthropologie store to look at a $200 dress that, in my humble opinion, resembles a curtain. The crowds in front of us are sauntering along like they are in a funeral march in the streets of New Orleans. I “lovingly” grab my wife’s hand and weave through the masses of people, rushing to our destination. 

I am at the grocery store on a Sunday afternoon. I am like a well-oiled machine. I move quickly through the store, knowing exactly what I need and where to find it. There is no wandering around aimlessly. I am on a mission. I approach the checkout and do an analysis of the carts in the different lines. I pick the line that I believe will get me out of the store fastest. While waiting, I watch the other lines for checkout efficiency. If I sense that another line is “winning,” I move to that cashier. When I’m on deck for checkout, I carefully arrange the items for maximum bagging efficiency. I have saved myself and others behind me one minute and seven seconds.

Most of my days look like this. I rush through much of my life, even when there is no reason to be in a hurry. I get frustrated and impatient with people who get in the way of my frenetic pace and who do not seem to appreciate my need for speed. I have been this way for as long as I can remember. In the past, I have viewed this as a strength to be proud of. After all, my hurried pace makes me more productive. I don’t waste time. I get things done. Who wouldn’t want this for themselves?

I suspect that many of you can relate to one or all the stories above. Lawyers are notorious hurriers—juggling packed calendars, racing from one meeting to the next, and squeezing every second out of the day like it’s a billable minute. Whether it’s chasing deadlines, prepping for court, or managing client crises, the practice of law runs on urgency. It’s not just part of the job—it’s practically a personality trait.

Sixty-one years of hurrying have left me feeling tired. I have started to question this mindset. Is the hurrying having a negative effect on my physical and mental health? Is there a better way to live? Could I be just as productive without all the rushing? And why do I behave this way in the first place?

It turns out that I suffer from a common affliction known as “hurry sickness.”  The term was first coined by cardiologist Dr. Meyer Friedman in 1974 in his book, Type A Behavior and Your Heart. Since then, psychologists, researchers and consultants have expanded the concept and developed strategies for dealing with hurry sickness. Hurry sickness is not a diagnosable mental health condition but rather is a phenomenon marked by certain behaviors, including chronic rushing, impatience, and a sense of time scarcity. 

Burnout researcher and author Kandi Wiens suggests that hurry sickness is largely the result of cultural beliefs that glorify busyness and productivity. This is certainly true in the legal profession. She adds that technology has magnified the problem by increasing the pressure to get things done quickly. Wiens posits further that certain personality types (think Type A personality) are more prone to hurry sickness. 

I want to suggest to you that this hurry sickness is not simply about cultural pressures to be productive or innate personality traits. It is, in many instances, a manifestation of our primal fear of our temporary existence here on earth. In a world where time marches relentlessly forward, each moment feels precious, and the urge to fill it, to conquer it with activity, becomes overwhelming. We pack our schedules, race through our days, and grow impatient with anything that slows our momentum, all in a subconscious attempt to deny our inevitable mortality.

Consider the lawyer juggling deadlines, the commuter weaving through traffic, the shopper strategizing checkout lines. Are these actions solely driven by a desire for accomplishment? Or is there an underlying anxiety fueling this frantic pace? In his book Denial of Death, Ernest Becker argues that the fear of death influences almost everything that we do in this life. He explains that much of our behavior is designed to transcend the inevitability of our mortality. Becker’s assertion resonates here. By constantly engaging, by perpetually moving, we create the illusion of control over time, a defiance against its ultimate triumph.

Yet, this frantic race is a paradox. In our desperate attempt to gain time, to cheat death by cramming more life into each moment, we ironically diminish the quality of that life. We become so fixated on the destination that we fail to experience the journey. The beauty of a leisurely stroll, the depth of a present conversation, the simple joy of a moment unburdened by the need for speed – these are the casualties of our hurried existence.

Ultimately, the relationship between death and hurry is not one of efficient progress towards a finish line, but rather a dance between fear and futile control. Recognizing this underlying anxiety is the first step toward reclaiming our time, not by rushing through it, but by inhabiting each moment with intention and presence, acknowledging the preciousness of our fleeting existence without being consumed by the fear of its end.

There are good reasons to overcome hurry sickness. Chronic rushing fuels anxiety, weakens immunity, harms cardiovascular health, and cultivates impatience that damages relationships. This tendency toward “hurry sickness” also increases the likelihood of mistakes, particularly problematic for professionals like lawyers. Recognizing these detrimental effects, especially the ingrained nature of habitual hurrying, is the first step towards consciously modifying our thoughts and behaviors to minimize its impact. Beyond simple awareness, though, what can one do to change this deeply ingrained behavior pattern?

Here is the part of the article where I could give you five bullet points to address your own hurry sickness. Therapists will suggest that you try cognitive behavioral therapy. Consultants will tell you to focus on time management.  But here is the truth. It’s a single suggestion: Slow. Down. It really is that simple. Notice the moments you rush without reason—when your foot is a little too heavy on the gas, or you’re racing through your day like there’s a prize at the end. How do you feel? If you are like me, you are anxious and tense.  Start catching yourself in those moments, take a breath, and shift gears. Leave yourself notes as reminders. Slowing down isn’t laziness—it’s rewiring. Awareness is the first domino. Once you see the habit, you can start to break it. And don’t give up the first time you fail. I have left myself a note on the dashboard of my car that says, “Slow Down.” I still catch myself racing with other cars and getting impatient at stoplights. But I have also started to catch myself and avoid the need to race on many occasions. Developing the bad habit took a long time; reversing it will require patience and perseverance. 

The frantic pace we often set for ourselves can feel necessary, even empowering, but it ultimately is unhealthy and detracts from the richness of our lives. The drive to hurry is often caused by cultural and occupational pressures, but it might also be rooted in a fear of time slipping away. But it’s this very rush that leaves us feeling disconnected and overwhelmed. By acknowledging the toll that hurry sickness takes on our physical and mental health, we can begin to make small, intentional changes in how we live our lives. It’s not about reaching the finish line faster. What is the value of that? Everything good lives in the space we’re rushing past.