Slow

I am slow. I have been slow for as long as I can remember. By "slow", I mean that it takes me longer to do things than it takes most people to do them. In first grade, the teacher would regularly pass out sheets of paper with a grid of 100 empty boxes, and during the course of the school day we were supposed to write numbers from 1 to 100 in the boxes, and then turn in the paper. For most of the class, this was no problem. I used to have to stay after school to complete my numbers. I believe this was a bit of an embarrassment and puzzlement to my teacher, because in many ways she considered me to be one of the smartest children in the class, and she could not understand why I could rarely complete my number sheets during the course of a school day.

In ninth grade algebra class, this combination of slow speed and intelligence regularly led to a sort of "tortoise and hare" situation. The class would be divided into two competing groups, culminating in each group selecting a "champion" to go up to the front of the room and solve a problem on the blackboard while the other group's "champion" worked beside them to solve the same problem. I was usually chosen to represent my side. I would be working on the problem, and the student next to me would announce that they were finished. The teacher would pronounce their answer incorrect, and instruct both of us to keep working. The other student would again finish the problem, and again the teacher would announce that their answer was incorrect. After the other student had finished three or four times, I would finally finish, and the teacher would announce that my answer was correct, and our side would win the contest.

Since I have been slow my entire life, I have learned to compensate for it somewhat by usually working at my maximum speed, so I can appear to be working at a "normal, average" speed. This becomes apparent in situations where a "normal" person for some reason is called upon to work "faster". A "normal" person CAN, when necessary, work "faster". Since I am already working at or near my maximum possible speed, I am often incapable of doing anything "faster".

This is one of those areas in which it is hard for people not to view others in their own terms. On the one hand, this all may seem to make sense when clearly explained. On the other hand, it is difficult for anyone to understand why I can't just "be faster". Perhaps there are scientists who have studied this sort of thing, and can offer an explanation. I cannot explain it, but since I have lived with it my entire life, it is something that I am familiar with, and to a certain degree, comfortable with.

I should perhaps clarify that I am not necessarily slow on everything. I am less impaired when it comes to purely physical endeavors, such as walking, running, or riding a bicycle. I suspect that the slowness involves the way my brain works. I have long been aware that if I am trying to accomplish something in a hurry, any sort of conversation has the potential to bog me down -- including such innocuous events as someone saying "Hello" or "Good morning!" A "Hello" can make the difference between me being on time or late to an appointment, as everything I do immediately following the greeting slows to a snail's pace.

Reinhold Niebuhr's famous "Serenity Prayer" opens with, "God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; courage to change the things I can; and wisdom to know the difference." For me, this statement represents one of the key problems each of us faces as we go through life: how to know what to accept and what to try to change. My slowness is one of those things that I have pretty much come to accept. Perhaps I should be struggling to change it. I do not know. Truth is complicated.