When I was 8, my teacher gave me a copy of Goodnight, Mister Tom with a message scribbled on the inside. It was a goodbye gift as I left Year 3 because I was moving schools before the start of Year 4, and she was my favourite teacher ever (and in my remembering of this I was her favourite student although this is, of course, patently untrue, because she was a good teacher and therefore even if she did have favourites, she wouldn’t have let them know1).
A few house moves later and I’ve long since lost the book, but I can still see the inscription clear as day, in the opening pages of the book on the left hand side:
More haste, less speed.
Immediately, to me, that made sense. To me, ‘speed’ suggested moving along 1 axis, time, but haste was along multiple axes all at once: time, capacity, and more (at that age, and arguably now, I still hadn’t learnt that more doesn’t necessarily equal better). Why wouldn’t you maximise that? Yes, I thought, yes! These are the words by which I should live my life, thank you for noticing!
Of course, my teacher didn’t mean it the way I read it, as an endorsement of the way I went about my daily business. Instead, she meant it in the traditional way — to make haste slowly, or mindfully; a Latin oxymoron encouraging people to proceed quickly, but carefully.
A lot of the time, I still feel like I’m working on the principle I inferred in my original reading. I barrel into things without pausing to take a breath, like I’ve been taken over by something bigger than myself. One minute, I’m peacefully coexisting; the next minute I get an idea, and 2 hours later I’ve become single-mindedly obsessed with bringing it to life. (This, you might think, lends itself well to not dwelling on the past — wrong! I do this and fret obsessively about every single thing I’ve ever done!) Sometimes, this immersion is fun; sometimes, it feels painful, like every second I spend *not* doing it is wasted.
When we moved in to our new flat last year, we gained a door entry system that has a fob. I complained over and over to my partner about how my fob was faulty, it didn’t work, it never opened the door, until one day he watched me attempt it, and told me I was doing it too quickly. I’d graze it over the touchpad and just as quickly retrieve it, then get mightily annoyed at the red light of disappointment and the gloating beep it made denying entry. He, ever the slower, more patient one of us, took my key and held it there for a smidge longer; a green light showed, and a higher-tone beep played, granting us access.
None of this is my teacher’s fault, of course; I think I was just, to paraphase Lady Gaga, born this way2. Rather than flying through life, I feel like I barrel through it: speedy, sure, but clumsy, using sheer force of will more than anything else. It just felt very fitting — and amusingly meta — that the first time I ever encountered this phrase, I interpreted it this way.
A side story about this teacher: 3ish years ago, I was coming back from a weekend at home, wheeling my little yellow suitcase up to the platform of my local train station, when I bumped into the teacher. I squealed her name in delight, then quickly said mine to avoid that awkward “I’ve taught thousands of kids over the years, who the hell are you?” dance3. She smiled an open, non-committal smile, and asked me what I was up to nowadays. I explained that I worked in weddings, as it was an easier catch-all than the minutiae of my niche.
“That sounds fun,” she said kindly. “But you were always a writer — don’t let that go unrealised.”
And with that, she trotted off.
Are you more haste, or more speed?
Note: when I originally published this, I incorrectly claimed that my teacher had got the phrase the wrong way round. Since then my much smarter and esteemed friend
has pointed out that actually it was the correct way round, it just harks back to a time when the meaning was different to what our surface level reading would be today. My point still stands — I definitely took the opposite from it — but this is my official statement saying MRS ANDREWS, I APOLOGISE PROFUSELY. I SHOULD HAVE KNOWN BETTER THAT YOU WOULD NEVER GET ANYTHING WRONG. I HOPE YOU’RE WELL.Thank you for supporting me in this difficult time.
But we can all just agree it was me, ok?
The new Joker adverts are making me laugh, because they just say PHOENIX and GAGA, as if that’s her actual legal last name.
Even though, as previously discussed, I’m sure she’d have remembered me, as her favourite…
But you were always a writer ... something in my eye xo