I had the accelerator on the floor and was on a mission known only to me. The speed limit sign read 18 mph and I saw it as a challenge.

This was when I noticed the hill.

A gentle decline in the road, maybe a hundred yards ahead, appearing before me like a gift from a universe that occasionally does get things right.

My wife was in the passenger seat. She was saying something, but I have to be honest and say I was not fully listening because I was focused on the hill and on the accelerator which was, as previously noted, already on the floor.

My mother-in-law was in the back seat just taking in the scenery.

The hill arrived.

The speedometer climbed.

Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen.

I leaned forward slightly, as if my body weight was going to be the variable that made the difference. As if the golf cart was going to look at my commitment and decide to give me just a little more.

Twenty miles per hour.

Twenty. Miles. Per. Hour.

I did not whoop out loud, mostly because everything around us was super quiet and I didn’t want to disturb anything. But inside, in the part of me that is still twelve years old and always will be, something raised both fists in the air and lost its mind completely.

My wife didn’t look at me.

My mother-in-law didn’t look at me.

They were mid conversation about a vendor's event they had spotted as we whizzed by at a blistering pace, break the law pace. A man had set out a sign with an arrow pointing toward a vendor's event at the community center, so they were already making plans to double back and visit later, like I hadn’t just pulled off an Evel Knievel like feat.

And that was just fine.

Then it was over and I was sucked into cruising along, taking in the sights and enjoying the day…. livin’ life at 18 mph.

I learned pretty quickly that Bald Head Island, North Carolina has a way of forcing you to slow down, and it does it in two very deliberate ways.

First, you can only get there by ferry. There are no bridges. No shortcuts. No "I'll just pop over real quick." Your departure and your arrival are entirely at the ferry's mercy, which operates on its own schedule and is not particularly interested in yours. You show up, you buy your ticket, you sit down, you wait, and enjoy the ride.

Second, once you arrive, the only motorized transportation available is a golf cart. No cars. No motorcycles. Nothing that might give you the impression that speed is an option there.

Spend some time on the island and also you start to feel like the speed limit is equal parts the law and philosophy. This is how fast things move here. This is how fast you move here. Whether you like it or not, and whether you spend the first ten minutes of your rental looking for a hill to test that theory or not, you are going to slow down on Bald Head Island.

It has ways of making sure of it.

And that's just fine. The warm salty breeze that you can only really feel at eighteen miles per hour started to feel like exactly the right speed for everything. The scenery, the moss covered trees, the glimpses of water between the houses, the general unhurried beauty of a place that has simply decided not to be in a rush, all of it came into focus in a way that it couldn't have at sixty-five on the interstate.

Most of us are moving through life at a speed that would make eighteen miles per hour look like a full stop and we've been doing it for so long that we've forgotten what the alternative feels like. Psychologists call it attention residue, which sounds like something you'd find in the bottom of a very stressed out coffee mug. It means that when you rush from one thing to the next without pausing, part of your brain is still back at the last thing while the rest of you has technically moved on. You're at dinner but you're still in the meeting. You're on vacation but you're still checking your phone. You're on a ferry crossing the Atlantic and you're thinking about your inbox. As a result, we suffer through diminished focus and exhaustion. Neither are good ingredients for a happiness sandwich.

We all need to find our own Bald Head Island more often and take it slow.

Research on presence and life satisfaction will tell you that the moments that actually stick, the ones that accumulate into what we'll look back on and call a good life, are the ones where we were fully there for them. Not half there. Not there in body while mentally composing an email. Actually there.

And, last Saturday, I found myself there. There for sweating our faces off while waiting to climb through a tiny hole at the top of Old Baldy Lighthouse to take in the view.

Also there for the second best tuna fish sandwich I ever had, with my wife and my mother-in-law, who was the ideal third wheel for this particular adventure - game for everything, completely unbothered by the heat in a way that I found both impressive and mildly suspicious, and responsible for making everyone laugh approximately every twelve minutes from the back of the golf cart by just being herself.

After a dip in the ocean, we caught the ferry back to the mainland. And before catching a 20 minute nap, I thought, this is what life needs sometimes. Not a permanent lifestyle overhaul. Not a radical simplification that requires selling everything and moving somewhere without cars. Just an occasional, intentional eighteen miles per hour. A day where the pace is set by the golf cart and not by the notification. A sandwich you actually taste. A hole in a lighthouse you climb through because you're there and you might as well.

You don't have to go to Bald Head Island (or even leave your house) to find eighteen miles per hour. Though, if you ever find yourself in coastal North Carolina, I recommend it highly and the sandwich alone is worth the ferry ticket.

You just have to decide, every once in a while, that today is a metaphorical golf cart day.

And then actually let it be one.

So here's your assignment this week, and I'm using the word assignment loosely because the whole point is that this is the opposite of homework:

Find your eighteen miles per hour.

Something that forces you to slow down to a pace your nervous system actually recognizes as sustainable. A slow morning where you don't check your phone until the coffee is finished. A walk with no destination and no podcast. A meal you actually taste. An afternoon with no agenda that you protect like it's a meeting you can't move.

Pick one. Do it this week. Not next week when things calm down, because things do not calm down, you just get better at pretending they will.

That's Volume 069. Here's to ferry rides with nowhere to be, golf carts with nothing to prove, historic lighthouses with questionable architecture, delicious sandwiches, and the occasional day where eighteen miles per hour turns out to be exactly the right speed for everything.

Until next time: breathe deep, slow down a little, and chill the duck out.

Jason

Research on chronic busyness shows that operating at sustained high speed without intentional recovery degrades cognitive function, decision making ability, and emotional regulation over time. Psychologists use the term attention residue to describe the phenomenon of mental attention remaining on a previous task when moving to a new one, reducing presence and effectiveness at whatever comes next. Studies on presence and life satisfaction consistently show that fully attended experiences are more likely to be remembered and contribute to overall wellbeing than experiences where attention is divided. Research on pace and stress shows that intentional periods of slower activity reduce cortisol levels and improve mood and cognitive clarity. The tuna fish salad sandwich was exceptional and no further citation is required.