The tyranny of urgency

On Saturday, my dog threw up on my bed.

My washing machine is too small for a queen comforter so cleaning it would require finding a laundromat, driving there, waiting for it to wash and dry, driving home, and putting it back on the bed.

This wasn’t what I felt like doing with my Saturday.

But if I don’t do it, I’ll have to go on Sunday. Or worse, on Monday, when my calendar is full of appointments. That’ll be impossible, which means it’ll realistically have to wait until Friday because I don’t see clients that day. But if I do it Friday, I won’t have time for all the things I save for the day I don’t see clients. Which means it gets bumped to next weekend, which is even more problematic than doing it this weekend.

This is the thought spiral I found myself in while cleaning up the dog puke.

This is the tyranny of urgency.

I have four other blankets that could easily serve as a substitute comforter.

I could not wash the soiled comforter for a week, month, or year and have no problem keeping warm at night.

And yet, as soon as it happened, I experienced a wave of burdensome urgency, like if I don’t deal with it right this second—or at least make a plan for when to deal with it—I’m a failed human.

If this example feels unrelatable, notice what occurs for you when your phone dings. Or you see an unread email message. Or you notice you’re low on something from Amazon.

Technology has normalized an undercurrent of urgency in our lives.

A text message here, a double tap there—we’re unconsciously flowing with the current. Also notice how self-imposed urgency might be showing up outside your phone, as it did in my comforter situation.

When everything is urgent, nothing is special.

Priorities get confused.
Desires get diluted.
Values get compromised.

If you catch yourself saying or thinking “I have to do this right now,” pause.

Do you?

Just taking the time to ask this question brings you into a higher state of presence and consciousness. The urgency script is no longer running on autopilot.

And I invite you to answer the question literally and honestly.

Did I need to handle the comforter the day it happened? Nope.

Is it killing me knowing it’s still sitting there caked in dog puke? Yup.

All told, it’s a win because I’m aware.

I’m consciously choosing to wait for a good day to visit the laundromat—no longer captured by the tyranny of urgency. (At least about this.)