There’s a quiet kind of admiration I carry for people whose jobs require them to move fast, stay alert, and handle multiple things at once with their hands and feet constantly in motion. I’m talking about waiters weaving between tables with trays of hot food, supermarket sorters unloading boxes in rhythm, cashiers scanning and bagging items with seamless coordination, and fast-food workers juggling orders under pressure. These aren’t the kinds of jobs that get glamorous attention, but they shine brightly in my eyes.
I’ve always been someone who moves slowly. Not out of laziness, but more from a natural pace that seems a little more relaxed than the world around me. At work, I type quickly. I switch tabs, scroll through documents, answer messages—all at lightning speed. Give me a computer and I fly. But take me away from a screen and ask me to clean a kitchen, pack a suitcase, or walk from my desk to the canteen, and I suddenly become the slowest in the group. When I go to lunch with colleagues, I’m always trailing behind, and it’s become something I’ve started to notice more often.
This slowness in physical movement bothers me—not because I’m ashamed of who I am, but because I want to be different. I want to train myself to move with purpose, to react quickly, to develop the kind of agility I see in people who do physically demanding jobs. I once told my husband that I would love to work part-time in a restaurant or even as a supermarket sorter, not because I need the money, but because I crave the transformation. I want to feel what it’s like to respond fast, move fast, think with my hands, and not just with my mind. I want to feel capable in a physical sense.
When I watch people in these roles, I see more than just hard work. I see control, grace, coordination, and mental sharpness. A waiter has to remember orders, manage time, dodge customers, smile, carry multiple dishes, and return quickly to the kitchen for more. A supermarket sorter needs to be organized, physically strong, fast with their hands, and precise. Even a cashier at a busy fast-food joint has to scan items fast, deal with change, smile, handle complaints, and still keep the line moving. These people aren’t just doing jobs—they’re performing.
And this performance is what inspires me. It’s not easy to move fast and stay accurate. It’s not easy to stay calm under pressure when customers are impatient or when there are ten tasks pulling at you from different directions. These roles teach something that can’t be learned by reading or watching—you have to do. And I want to do. I want to learn through my body, not just through my eyes or fingers at a keyboard.
My husband, out of love and concern, worries that my slow reactions could be risky, especially when it comes to driving. He’s right to be cautious. Reacting quickly to a red light, a pedestrian, or a sudden stop requires a kind of alertness I don’t yet fully have. But I’m improving. Being a mother has pushed me to multitask more than ever before. I’ve learned to do household chores while keeping an eye on a toddler, to hurriedly sort her toys while talking to her, to shower her and put her clothes on in a fast way so cold air won’t hit her tiny body, to comfort her while planning the day’s errands. It’s far from perfect, but it’s something. It’s my training ground.
Having a child changes your priorities and your tempo. You no longer have the luxury of pausing too long. You adapt. You grow. And in that growth, I’ve seen glimpses of the person I want to be—more physically capable, more present, more prepared. I now see how being fast is not just about speed; it’s about presence. It’s about knowing what’s happening around you and responding to it in real time. That’s what those in physical jobs do, day in and day out.
Sometimes I imagine myself in an apron, taking orders, moving from table to table, wiping counters, rushing back and forth between the kitchen and the front of house. I imagine sorting cartons in a storeroom, stacking shelves, bending, lifting, walking briskly through aisles. There’s something deeply grounding about these jobs. They connect you to your body. They make you sweat, ache, and build strength—not just physically, but mentally too. They demand endurance, focus, and rhythm. That’s the kind of strength I want to develop.
It’s easy to romanticize certain jobs from afar, and I’m aware of that. Physical jobs are not easy, and many people don’t choose them for pleasure. They do it out of necessity. And I respect that deeply. But admiration doesn’t mean ignorance. I don’t think these jobs are simple or that I could slide into them effortlessly. That’s why I admire the people who do them well. Because I know it would take time and effort to reach their level. That’s what makes it worth admiring.
Even now, I try to adopt small habits that inch me toward that goal. I walk faster when I’m out. I time myself when doing chores. I practice reacting quickly to the things around me. I notice how I handle distractions and how I prioritize actions. I’m starting to understand that speed and alertness can be trained, just like any other skill. It’s not about rushing; it’s about being ready.
I don’t think I’ll ever become the fastest person in the room, but I do believe I can become faster than I am today. And that belief keeps me motivated. Every time I see someone at a supermarket handling their work with ease and speed, or someone in a restaurant moving like they’re dancing between tables, I feel inspired. They are not just working; they are moving with mastery. That is what I aspire to.
The world needs all kinds of skills. Some are mental, some emotional, and many are physical. I’ve spent a lot of my life strengthening my mind and my typing speed, but now it’s time to train my body, my movement, my reaction time. The kind of fast that’s not on a keyboard, but in real life. The kind of fast that can carry plates, push carts, clean rooms, help others, and still stay smiling.
So here’s to the people who move fast—not just with their fingers, but with their whole selves. You inspire me. And slowly but surely, I’m learning from you.
