Kim pointed up, exclaiming: “Look! Two raccoons in the tree!”
We were on a slow walk, circling Stow Lake in the center of Golden Gate Park. Approaching dusk in August, we rounded a corner underneath a few birch trees when leaves rustled above. I sauntered along until Kim shook me. We halted our strolling conversation, admiring the raccoons.
There’s a paved, one way road around the lake meant for cars and bikes. Alongside that road, there’s a tree-lined path for runners and walkers alike. I’ve circled that road with my bike and ran under those trees a dizzying number of times, but that was the first raccoons-in-tree sighting.
Six years ago, a friend forced me to sign up and train for a 100 kilometer bike ride with him. Wearing basketball shorts and helmets from the Target clearance aisle, we rode our bikes out of the box, as fast as we could. It was a blast. I started cycling daily, even in the pouring rain and once in hail. I pestered friends to buy bikes. Hooked into the sport, I upgraded my gear: new pedals, classic white shoes, and a cooler looking helmet.
Cycling snowballed into a part-time job. I sacrificed late nights on Fridays, heavy drinking, all forms of smoking, junk food, and blocks of mornings and weekends. 4:30 am alarms became a regular occurrence–I would say waking up that early became peaceful, but it sucked. Entire weekends were spent riding fast or recovering from riding.
As this part-time job picked up, I joined a new company at the start of 2016. Lesser known at the time, it had an ex-PayPal cofounder at the helm attracting smart and ambitious people. We worked hard, often into the night. It was thrilling with one pace: fast. There was a contagious excitement and electric buzz in the office. My team went from a few people to more than 30 in a few years. I grew from individual contributor to managing a team of 10 across multiple functions. It’s possible this is where I advanced from confused college graduate to a functioning adult.
As the company grew, so did the monotony of my cycling regimen–I craved diversity in my workouts. I took to running. Starting with short runs in the neighborhood and the local track, I then escaped to trail runs through Golden Gate Park. I thought I knew every nook and cranny of the park from countless bike rides. Yet, I found myself pausing during trail runs, in awe at a new area of the park. It’s an impressive feeling when you stumble upon a hidden gem. A stupid feeling when it takes several hundred passes to realize it was there. A peaceful lake, patiently sitting there all these years.
Affirm graduated to a late stage startup. Budgets expanded, people left the office on time, and the urgency from the first few years shifted. The pace became just comfortable. People I worked with started to poke their heads up for new opportunities, others left to start their own companies. I joined a new company with a shiny new role and heightened responsibility, but after a short stint I decided to pause for an extended break.
After 4 startups in a decade, I left my job with no next steps. A fortunate position. Naturally, I get a lot of: “so what are you doing now?”
Many things, but mostly slow walks.
Free from the next meeting or structured calendar, my days are scattered with grandpa walks, ranging from 15 minute jaunts to 90 minutes of lost-in-the-sauce meandering. A leisurely walk is a shower after a stressful day, except you don’t have to get naked.
On one walk, my mind wandered into pace and speed in life. It’s fast and exhilarating, a constant tempo, like drafting behind another cyclist. We tend to equate high speeds and pace with progress. Yet, there’s value in slowing down, sometimes to a full stop. Slowing down forces you to notice opportunities you would have glossed over as unimportant. It forces you to consider growing in areas that aren’t dependent on speed.
I have no judgment about the speed at which you’re approaching careers, business building, and getting ahead. It is often a necessary sacrifice. For family and loved ones, there’s only one pace: a slow walk, often coming to a complete halt to inspect what’s directly in front of you.
Make sure to look up, too, or you’ll miss the raccoons in the tree.