Speed covers a lack of skill

“Speed covers a lack of skill.” Coming from the gruff voice of our off-road motorcycle instructor, the statement was delivered the same way someone pronounces a philosophical truth. This was not up for discussion, this was a fact. 

This moment happened years ago and I can still remember it freshly in my mind. I don’t remember the instructor's name, so let’s call him something fitting like… Chip or Curly or Sarge. He stood in front of us in a dust-covered jumpsuit with deep pockets sewn into the thighs to hold his gloves and goggles, each peeking out of a different side, respectively.

Sarge had watched us lay down expensive adventure motorcycles for the better part of a morning, and he was calling us out for our inexperience. Riding a motorcycle off-road is nervewracking the first few times. The dirt here in Colorado is fine, almost powdery, which lets the loose gravel and larger stones work their way to the surface and then coats them so that your tire slips right off them. 

The experience is such that the bike feels almost always out of control, at first. When we came to a particularly tricky patch of gravel the urge to “get it over with” came on and we would try to move through it as quickly as possible.

What this translated to was that the bike was barely under control, and that if a rider laid the bike down (aka crashed) they would end up doing more damage to themselves and to the bike than if they had been going slower. A skilled rider goes slowly, picking their way through the terrain with control and calm. Anyone can try to rev their way through. Only those willing to take the time and intention can consistently handle the unknown and sometimes treacherous terrain around the next bend.

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This all calls to mind another story: that of the resurrection of Lazarus. In the Gospel of John, Christ has walked to the town of Bethany in the wake of Lazarus’s death, in order to wake him up from his sleep. To everyone else’s experience, Lazarus is not asleep… he is dead. And yet here is a moment where Jesus knows what he is walking to do, but what has not yet come to pass.

On the way to the tomb Jesus encounters Mary, the sister of Lazarus, in her grief. The Gospel tells us that Jesus was “deeply moved in spirit” and that he “wept” (NIV).

He knows the ending that he is moving towards: the resurrection of his friend, and yet he does not bypass or skip the process in front of him. He moves slowly and lets himself feel and express the grief and loss. Only then does he bring Lazarus back to tears of joy.

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I have noticed that this plays out in my internal world as well. My desire to move quickly to the right answer or to the healing or the solution is more a reflection of my inability to hold the tension. My desire for speed through difficulty reveals my lack of skill with handling suffering.

There is another way, which demands time and intention and the development of skill. Going slowly through my own suffering and the unsolved pain can feel like I am making it worse or that I may never find my way out. 

But the alternative has left me dissociated from my own heart and at other times it has caused me even more pain when the denial of the high stakes came crashing down.

The truth is that the pain does not last. The fastest way through, paradoxically, is to move slowly with skill and presence.