Ocean Speed

Haney had the tray table down before the plane leveled off.

His laptop balanced just above his knees, a presentation open that had already been revised twice since he boarded. A calendar reminder blinked in the corner of the screen—prep for follow-up—even though the first meeting hadn’t happened yet. He added a note, then another, then deleted both.

By the time they reached cruising altitude, two assumptions he’d built the deck around no longer held. That wasn’t unusual anymore. Things shifted quickly now. Sometimes before you even finished describing them.

He leaned back and looked out the window, mostly to rest his eyes.

Below him, land rushed by in dense patterns. Roads braided together. Neighborhoods pressed up against industrial parks. Parking lots shimmered in the sun. Even from this height, everything looked busy—crowded with purpose, movement layered on movement.

It didn’t calm him the way he’d hoped.

If anything, it made his chest tighten. All of it running at once. All of it connected. Everyone somewhere they needed to be, already late for whatever came next.

Haney turned back to his laptop.

The work felt heavier now. The language sharper. He reworded a sentence, then reworded it again. He checked the time. Too early. He checked his email anyway. Nothing that helped.

After a while—he couldn’t have said how long—something shifted.

Nothing on the screen changed. The numbers were the same. The open questions remained open. But his breathing slowed. His shoulders dropped, just a fraction. The constant hum behind his thoughts softened.

He noticed it without understanding it.

Then he looked out the window again.

The land was gone.

Below him, the Atlantic stretched in every direction, a deep unbroken blue. No roads. No grids. No visible effort. No signs of urgency or direction. Just water, moving at its own pace, unconcerned with timetables or targets.

Haney stared longer than he meant to.

The ocean didn’t look still. It looked steady. As if it had been doing this long enough to know there was no need to rush. Whatever storms came, whatever systems rose and fell along its edges, it would absorb them in time.

Whatever speed the world had agreed to on land, the ocean had not signed on.

He didn’t think of it as a lesson. It didn’t arrive with words. It was just a contrast—two ways of moving, visible in a single glance.

Haney went back to his work. He made a few more notes. He adjusted a slide. The trip would continue as planned.

But he kept glancing out the window, as if to reassure himself that the other pace was still there.

It was.

Unbothered.
Unhurried.
And in no danger of disappearing.

Sometime this week, notice when your body starts moving faster than it needs to.

Not because something is urgent—
but because everything around you is.

When that happens, pause for ten seconds.

You don’t need to change what you’re doing.
You don’t need to slow anyone else down.

Just ask yourself:

What would this feel like at ocean speed?

Then continue—
at the pace that lets you stay steady.

Story Inspired by a quiet moment over the Atlantic, somewhere between where I was rushing from and where I was headed.

Until next Sunday.

Some days don't want predicting.

— Mike ☕️

P.S. If this gave you a tiny exhale, please consider forwarding it to one person.