7. Slow down, dude
How a reckless phrase became my life’s mantra
I was making breakfast the other morning when I stopped myself from tearing open a butter wrapper. I had to laugh a little because, out of nowhere, I heard a voice from my teenage years say, “Slow down dude, you’re moving way too fast.” It’s funny how a memory can show up like that, almost like it’s checking in on you.
I hadn’t thought about that phrase in years, but the moment it came back to me, I knew exactly where it started. It took me right back to high school, to a time when slowing down didn’t feel natural. I chased the thrill because slowing down meant I had to feel, and I didn’t want to.
Back then, my friend Becky and I spent a lot of nights cruising the strip. That was just what we did—drive around, music up, windows down, looking for something to do or someone to meet. One night, the energy shifted, and we ended up in a car with a guy we barely knew. It happened fast, and we just went with it.
He was heavy metal, and we were more Top 40, which says a lot right there. His style was loud and fast, and everything seemed to pick up speed the minute we got in. He drove like the rules didn’t apply to him, and at that age, that kind of energy pulled us in.
There was a road everyone called Devil’s Curve, and we all knew why. When we were heading toward it way too fast, Becky and I looked at each other with that “oh no” look. At the same time, still laughing and holding our breath, we yelled, “Slow down dude, you’re moving way too fast!”
When we made it through the turn, the relief hit us hard. We laughed until we cried—the kind of shaking laugh you have when you realize you’re okay, even though it could’ve gone the other way. We didn’t think much of it then. It was just another wild night with a story to tell later. I had no idea those words would come back into my life years later with a completely different meaning.
Looking back, I wasn’t trying to be brave. I was trying to belong. If I could be the girl who went along with things, who didn’t scare easy, maybe I wouldn’t be left out. Maybe you know that feeling too—the quiet hope that if you just keep up, you won’t fall behind or be forgotten.
If I could sit next to that younger version of me now, the one gripping the seat but pretending she loved the rush, I’d tell her: “You don’t have to do this to be seen. You’re allowed to choose what feels safe. You matter, even when you’re still.” I don’t think she would’ve believed me then, but I wish she could’ve heard it.
Now, “slow down” means something different to me. It’s not about speed or driving. It’s about being present. It’s opening the flour without ripping the bag. It’s taking my time in the kitchen, in conversations, and in moments that deserve to be felt instead of rushed through. Life, much like a good recipe, turns out better when you don’t rush it.
And no, that fast-paced way of living didn’t stop in high school. I carried that “hold on tight and hope for the best” feeling right into the next chapter of my life. The next time I felt that same kind of rush wasn’t in a car—it was the night Tamie and I visited Mizzou. A whole new world, a whole new kind of thrill, and I jumped in just as fast.