In a world of frantic motion, go forward patiently and persistently
Today's media in the Valley often forgets that it's not about speed, or flashiness; in fact, there's a special reward for running with purpose, strategy, and patience—perhaps better than "first place." NYT's beautiful ode to journalism—all things slow and profound—follows.
Before the field had hit the far turn at the Preakness Stakes last month, most eyes had moved on from a colt named Journalism. He broke out well enough, but trapped on the rail, boxed in tight, the favored horse faded in the pack just as the race began to burn.
The fastest surged forward. Journalism didn’t flinch. He waited, holding back, hunting space with coiled patience.
Then something shifted. There was no sudden explosion of speed, no frantic scramble. Just a patient, defiant unfolding. Trying to split horses near the quarter pole, Journalism took a hard bump from the right, faltering into another horse, then somehow squeezed through a seam in the chaos. When he finally found daylight, he had five lengths to make up and just seconds to do it.
Surging down the track, stretching his strides, he reeled in the leader and won by a half length.
It was a throwback, a reminder that patience isn’t weakness and that some victories are earned not by charging to the front but by knowing exactly when to move. ...
In an era wound tight with urgency, Journalism is the horse we forgot how to ride. He did not chase the breakneck pace. He moved with patience, let the chaos pass and proved capable of charging through gaps no wider than a saddle horn. ...
In 2025, while institutions falter and fiction parades as fact, Journalism suggests another kind of greatness, another way for us to be: quieter, more patient, no less profound.
For too long, our society has been running at Silicon Valley tempo — move quicker, scale faster, break through or get left behind. It’s the rhythm we’ve absorbed: endless acceleration. ...
It’s not flash. It’s feel. His owners say the animal is blessed with stamina and smarts. A horse who understands the rhythm of a race and how to hold his wind until it matters most. He runs like the old greats — Seabiscuit comes to mind — in the calculated way he finishes with meaning.
Maybe Journalism sees something we don’t. While we chase momentum, he runs with instinct. While we rush, he reads the track. He reminds us there’s still strength in patience and power in knowing not just how to move, but when.
We scroll, we sprint, we strain to keep up. We measure our days in steps, alerts and updates, rewarded for urgency and punished for pause. Even older generations — once the voice of reason — are tracking their heart rates, logging their miles and texting at red lights.
And at every stage, one wonders if it’s already too late. Some people peak early; we all remember the kids who seemed to have it all figured out at 17. But time has a way of revealing what matters. Some of us come from behind.
That’s the quiet truth in Journalism’s race. He didn’t win by being the fastest starter or the biggest colt. He won by running his own race, on his own terms. And when he moved, he moved with something stronger than speed: purpose.
Read the whole thing here.
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