Don’t Overcook the Eggs
The importance of slowing down in a fast-paced world.
One of the first and most important lessons I have ever learned stems from this simple realization: when you are cooking, you cannot simply turn up the heat to cook things faster. In fact, when you turn up the heat, you are bound to burn something. And in a fast-paced world, that’s easy to do.
Think about it. From the moment you’re born, you’re in a hurry. First you crawl, then you waddle, and then you run. You run in one direction, and you don’t see the world rushing past as you head toward your destination. You are goal-oriented. You are driven. You are trained from childhood through adulthood to “aim higher” and to “go the distance.”
Focus on your dreams. Claim that white picket fence. Be the American you were meant to be.
You can achieve a lot with this philosophy. There’s something inherently magical in the idea that if you dream big enough and if you work hard enough, everything will turn out fine. A lot of times, it does. And a lot of times it doesn’t. But what this philosophy doesn’t teach you is the importance of slowing down.
When I was a kid, I wrote a lot of fiction, and I could always tell when something wasn’t working — but I couldn’t always figure out what was wrong or why the story wasn’t turning out the way I expected. I would sit and I would reread and I would ponder over the words I had created, and with a lot of practice (and a lot of rewriting) I came to realize that the story and the style were both rushed in the worst possible way. The problem always came when I focused on point A and point B, but not on how to get from one place to the other in a meaningful way.
It wasn’t about the plot, exactly. Yes, there was an end goal, and there was only one way to get to that end (write). But just as it is with cooking, rushing not only causes mistakes, but it makes you miss the beautiful subtleties embedded in the every day. And as a writer, these are things you absolutely need to notice in order for your craft to thrive.
So I started by noticing. One morning — maybe when I was eleven years old — I fumbled underneath the kitchen counter for a frying pan and set the burner on medium-low heat. I listened to the sizzle of a small slice of butter melting in the pan. I cracked the eggs with one snap of my wrist on a flat surface and watched the shell give way in a perfect arc. I stood and waited and watched until the whites solidified and bubbled, and then with a smooth and careful flip, I watched the soft, pliable yolks change and harden in response to the steady heat coursing up through the pan. Salted and properly fried, those were by far the best eggs I had ever made.
I still hate cooking. But just because you hate doing something doesn’t mean you can’t learn from the experience. The lesson stemmed from the one time I made perfect eggs as a kid, but I learned something that day: skills develop not with speed or with volume, but with patience.
Even now, I keep a sign above my writing desk that reads “Slow Down.” It reminds me to take my time — because no matter how hard you work or how fast you go, you have to focus on what you are actively doing, not just on what you’re trying to accomplish.
And believe it or not, slowing things down can actually speed things up. It’s like starting on a hilltop with a fresh snowball; once the ball has been properly formed (skills) and once the temperature is just right (patience), the final piece will roll under your guidance in the right direction, build momentum, and finally become something substantial. A driving force.
In other words, instead of rushing, take the time to hone your craft — whatever that may be — and you will find meaning and quality in your work.
If you want to be a writer, you have to put the reader in your shoes. You have to paint the scene, appeal to the senses, and captivate the imagination just long enough that the reader forgets the words on the page and falls into the story you have created.
If you want to be a woodworker or an artist or a craftsman, you have to slow down and pay attention to the way the artform responds to your hands. You have to listen, and you have to hear what your art has to say.
And if you want to cook something, then you can’t just turn up the dial and expect what you put on that heat to do what you want, when you want. That’s the #1 rule. You can’t just turn up the heat.
So the next time you feel rushed or anxious, the next time you stumble, get frustrated, or find that the end of your goal-oriented road isn’t as magical as you thought it would be, try to consciously slow down. Take your time.
And remember not to overcook the eggs.
If you would like to support this teacher’s writing endeavors, consider joining Medium. Your subscription will directly support her and others like her while unlocking every article on the platform.
