Một dòng thở nhẹ – Nhật ký Thiền

I don’t run because I want to.
I run because I’m not allowed to be slow.

Deadlines feel like a shadow standing right behind me.
It doesn’t shout.
It doesn’t hit me.
But it’s always there —
so close I don’t dare breathe too deeply.

I work in a place where everything is “urgent.”
Urgent from morning to night.
Urgent from Monday to Sunday.
Urgent from one project to the next.

“Can you do this quickly?”
“Please finish this fast.”
“Deadline is coming.”
“The client needs it now.”
“The boss needs it now.”
“The team is waiting.”
“The company depends on it.”

I hear these words every day.
So often that I no longer know
what is truly urgent
and what is just habit.

Some days, I finish one task
only to have another land on my desk.
I take one breath
and a new email arrives.
I try to eat lunch
and a message pops up.

I don’t run with my legs.
I run with my hands,
my eyes,
my brain,
my heartbeat.

I run from morning until night.
From one deadline to the next.
Running so much
that I forget what it feels like
to move at a human pace.

There are moments I want to stop —
just for a minute —
but the world around me doesn’t stop.

The notifications don’t stop.
The expectations don’t stop.
The pressure doesn’t stop.

And so I keep running.

I run even when I’m tired.
I run even when I’m sick.
I run even when my mind is foggy
and my chest feels tight.

Because in this world,
slowing down feels like failing.
Resting feels like falling behind.
Breathing feels like a luxury.

Sometimes I wonder:

“If I disappeared for one day…
would everything fall apart?”

And the frightening part is —
I don’t know.

One night, after finishing yet another “urgent” task,
I sat alone in the dim light of my room.
My shoulders were stiff.
My eyes burned.
My mind felt hollow.

I realized:

I wasn’t running toward anything.
I was running away —
from being judged,
from disappointing others,
from being seen as not enough.

I don’t know when this race will end.
I don’t know if I’ll ever escape the cycle of deadlines.
I don’t know if I’ll ever learn to breathe
without feeling guilty.

But I know one thing:

I’m not running because I want to win.
I’m running because I’m afraid of what happens
if I slow down.

And sometimes,
just having someone understand that
is enough to make the weight
feel a little less heavy.