Good morning, Nora in New Yorkers. Today, I’m talking to those whose inner tempo outpaces the world’s bureaucracy. This morning, I caught myself in the 276389453748494th mid-sigh, but still, I did not melt my tension, my restless feeling of urgency that coils in my chest when my fire wants forward motion but the world insists on waiting.
I had finished yet another task the way I always do, with that volcanic force that knows how to move from idea to execution in a breath. I was riding high on the feeling of completion, the satisfaction of saying, “Yes, this is done, let’s go,” only to encounter again the aching mismatch between my inner clock and the world’s delay.
The world out there seems to be unbothered by my urgency. Let me give you an example. I have finished the research and arrived at findings that could actually improve healthcare.
Findings that decision-makers need to read now, not next quarter, because the solutions are practical and do not cost a fortune, and it’s doable. The paper has been submitted and has been under peer review for over a month. Over. One. Month. I understand it well; it can come across as academic impatience or ego, so let me clarify.
While academia takes its slow, cautious steps, let’s be honest about what’s unfolding outside those sporadic, sluggish email threads.
Right now — as you read this — someone is doubled over in pain in a waiting room with no doctor available. Right now, a patient is dying because they didn’t know where to go or couldn’t afford to get there in time. Right now, an exhausted physician — buried under the impossible conditions, the unbearable guilt, exhaustion and pressure is deciding they can’t survive one more shift and end their life.
And we are pretending we have time.
People are suffering, people are dying, there is a solution, waiting for someone in a system to move a cursor over “approve.”
Or allow me to provide another example. Sometimes, the solution is already here—researched and ready—and it could save lives; yet, it remains in limbo, stalled by the slow, creaking machinery of outdated bureaucracy that moves as if time were infinite. And so women with endometriosis continue to be cycled through hormonal treatments that never truly heal, and undergo surgeries that often cause more harm than good. We can no longer say we lack answers; it’s just that the system refuses to move quickly enough to let the truth get into the protocol.
So, yes, I get angry and impatient with the sluggish pace of others, their dissonant rhythms. I know my mission cannot be the priority for everyone, but I feel that fire in my ribs, and it says: Why is a clerical bottleneck standing between human beings and relief? Why does there need to be such a large gap between knowledge and action, between suffering and system-level change?
This is the fury of someone who sees the cost of delay in human lives.
As I began examining this constant rush within me — this breathless urge to move faster, to arrive sooner — I realized something.
Buried inside my speed was uncertainty. Fear.
I’ve been rushing, even if I’m not late, because I’m terrified. Terrified that the time I have left in this life won’t be enough to reform the healthcare system the way I know it needs to be changed. Terrified that I won’t find my people—the ones who will carry this mission with the same fire, the same ruthlessness, the same sacred, non-negotiable clarity that lives in me.
Terrified that everything I’ve poured in, my time, my work, my energy, my blood and sweat, might vanish and all that was for nothing, because it can go unnoticed or get lost.
I’ve even rushed in love when I felt insecure, chasing milestones and commitment in relationships where, deep down, I felt I wasn’t in the right place. I told myself a ring might finally bring peace to the constant confusion I’ve been living with, and that I would finally feel at ease. If I were truly committed, I wouldn’t have to decode contradictions and inconsistencies; maybe I wouldn’t feel so restless. Now I know, when I feel truly seen, truly chosen, I’m not scattered and I’m not in a rush at all.
Because where I know that what I want is already mine — even if it hasn’t materialized yet — there is no fear. There is no impatience.
In Hungary today, if I write a book, I can choose my publisher, but it wasn’t always the case.
When I was just starting out — a first-time author with my very first manuscript — I sent it to publishers one after another, and the rejections kept coming. Fifteen, maybe more. And that was the best-case scenario; when they actually replied, most of the time, there was just silence afterward.
But here’s what’s wild: even then — even as the “no’s” stacked up — I smiled, because I knew, I knew I was a writer, I knew this message was meant to reach people, and I knew — with the kind of unshakable certainty that doesn’t need external proof — that these rejections didn’t block me. They were actually breadcrumbs, each one leading me closer to the publisher, the one that was mine, the one worthy of carrying this message into the world.
So I kept going and sending the manuscript. I could feel the contract in my hand before it was written. I could feel the weight of the book in my hand before it ever existed on paper. It didn’t need to be real yet — because it my head, it already was.
The same applies to my legal case; I know the truth is on my side. I am confident that the perpetrator will be held accountable, so even if the court date is months away, even if someone doesn’t pick up the phone, even if the callback comes late or an email is lost in the thread, I don’t spiral. Sometimes I even smile, because when I feel that unshakable knowing, nothing, no waiting can disturb my inner stillness.
And this is what I’m learning to bring to everything that matters. I must anchor myself in the understanding that what I desire is already mine. To remember I don’t have to rush, in fact, I must not.
I will keep in mind that time is not my enemy; time is working for me. I know myself, it won’t be easy, this change won’t happen overnight. In the meantime, while I’m learning to do so, if I find myself upset with the world’s pace, I will use that anger to help me break through every wall the system puts in front of me.
Whenever I can, I allow the slowness out there to create the perfect pressure cooker for the right timing and the right resonance to rise. My new mantra about time is abundance.
This is the spaciousness of time, the elegance of creation, this is the trust that every delay refines the message, and what is meant is already making its way.
There’s no need to rush when you’re aligned with the inevitable.
