The Cost of Chasing Peace

 

Photo by Niko Huumonen on Unsplash

I used to sit in the car outside my son’s karate practice with the windows rolled down and my laptop balanced on my knees. The smell of the pizza place on the corner and the sounds of cars passing by provided a nice backdrop, like white noise for my messy thoughts. I wasn’t doing anything remarkable. Just typing out whatever thoughts I had that week, letting words tumble onto the page.

Those essays didn’t have a theme. They weren’t part of a series. I didn’t much care if anyone read them. The small dopamine hit of a new follower was nice, sure, but that wasn’t the point. The point was to sit still long enough to hear myself think, and then give those thoughts somewhere to go. Looking back, maybe that was the closest I’ve had to peace in long time.

I didn’t have to do anything to earn it. It wasn’t planned. I just found it sitting in the parking lot. Waiting.

I haven’t sat like that much in 25 years. These days I chase deadlines and client deliverables. I build faster because the tools let me build faster. AI writes most of my boilerplate code now, and that speed feels intoxicating. But it’s also dangerous. It’s easy to trust something that looks like it works until a flaw reveals itself later — costly, embarrassing, sometimes catastrophic.

Haste makes waste. I know that. But still I rush. Because somewhere in me I believe peace lives on the other side of success — if I can just get everything finished, then I’ll breathe easier. If I can hold the business together, then I’ll finally rest.

But I never get there. The peace I keep chasing always runs just ahead, like the mirage of a finish line that moves every time I near it.

I think back to those nights at karate. No one needed me in that hour. No one cared how many words I typed. Peace was already there, waiting for me in the car with the windows rolled down. I didn’t have to earn it.

Maybe that’s the cost of chasing peace — it blinds me to the peace already present, waiting in ordinary places.

I don’t know yet how to stop running. But I’m learning to notice. And today, that’s a start.

And that is enough.

Thanks for reading, and before you go. . .

I’m Aaron Pace. I write from the middle of things — life, business, fatherhood, faith, and the slow work of becoming someone I can live with. Not as an expert, but as someone trying to pay attention.

If this piece resonated with you, I’d be honored if you followed along here on Medium. I write — not because I’ve arrived, but because I’m finally moving again.