This story originally appeared on the Gents Cafe Newsletter. You can subscribe here.
There’s a photograph of a white-haired man sitting at a table. He’s facing away from the camera, the sun’s shining on his balding head, and within reach of his tanned hands: an espresso, a pack of cigarettes, and an ashtray.
It’s a simple but significant scene.
I saw it on Instagram. Most of the comments were expressions of longing. But one stopped me, “Your lack of urgency will be your failure.”
It got me thinking: is our addiction to urgency and hustle killing the life we actually want?
In the West, we worship the idea of the self-made man. Work hard enough, move fast enough, want it badly enough – and anything can be yours.
But the flip side is brutal. If you fail, it’s all on you, too.
No wonder we never slow down.
No wonder we feel shame in inaction.
But any man who’s lived long enough will tell you – no success or failure is ever a solo endeavour.
Luck, timing, and birth – they matter more than we like to admit.
Some people work tirelessly for decades to end up in a scene like this man. Just a pack of smokes, an espresso, and the soft stroke of Southern European sun on the skin.
Some don’t care for it. Some never get it. Some were born into it.
Looking at that photo, you can’t tell which he was.
But it’s a scene that I, like many other men, have imagined myself in (minus the smokes, maybe). And it raises the question, how do I want to get there?
Do I put in the work and rock up this Promiseland in 5, 10, 20, 30 years from now – grey, old, and retired?
Or is all that hustle just a distraction?
A way to delay me from taking my seat at the table?
A way to feed an ego desperate to prove itself and justify its existence?
Because I could live minimally. Within my limited means. Today. And breathe in the same Mediterranean air as this grey-haired gentleman.
I believe that would be a fine quality of life. One that’s unshackled from thin desires and the race to nowhere.
I like to think that man wasn’t chasing anything, and never had.
That he woke up with the cicadas. Walked down to his local coffee spot. Cigarettes in his pocket. And sat quietly with his espresso, watching the people walk by.
Living slowly.
Intentionally.
With a severe lack of urgency from birth.
Because he always knew that was the secret to a good life.
