The Perspective That Changes Everything

On slowing down, letting go, and trusting what unfolds over time

How do you maintain the long view amidst the hurriedness of daily life?

I had the flu, but I am now feeling better and writing again. However, I will be on a meditation retreat next week.

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Dear Friend,

I first heard of “the long view” early on the spiritual path, but I didn’t give it much thought then. I was too preoccupied with what was before me—the next to do, problem to solve, or emotional fire to put out.

I can see now how much my thinking was shaped by the moment.

When I considered buying a thoughtfully designed, LEED-certified townhome on a highway during the 2008 financial crisis, I was fixated on the noise, pollution, and lack of a yard for kids to play in. I couldn’t see beyond that, never mind that the price per square foot was one-third of what other homes were selling for in the neighborhood. I let my immediate concerns decide for me.

That’s the problem with short-term thinking—it reacts. It’s emotional. It gets caught up in what feels true now rather than looking where you want to go. It’s the ability to see beyond immediate emotions, beyond comfort, beyond immediate gratification. It’s the part of me that asks, What do I value most? What am I cultivating over time?

The Short View and the Long View

The short view is not a bad thing. It’s necessary, and it gets things done. It's hard to maintain perspective when my inbox is full, the fridge is empty, or the toilet isn't flushing.

But the short view alone isn’t enough.

The long view keeps things in perspective. It allows me to write without obsessing over every sentence because I know that good writing isn’t a single act but a skill developed over years. It also allows me to be patient in relationships, knowing trust and safety are built over time.

I see it everywhere now: in people who invest in their craft without seeking shortcuts, entrepreneurs who build businesses with the next decade in mind rather than the next quarter, and athletes whose coaches remind them not to rush the process.

The tennis sensation Carlos Alcaraz shared something his coach told him: Don’t hurry for results. Play the tournaments, learn the ropes, and experience it all.

I think about that occasionally. It’s easy to compare ourselves to people who seem further ahead. But the long view doesn’t work that way. There’s no “30 under 30” list for the people who build things slowly, thoughtfully, over a lifetime.

I learned this the hard way in investing, too. In 1997, when Steve Jobs returned to Apple, I told a fellow MBA classmate, “This will be the greatest comeback in American corporate history.” I could see the potential. But did I buy the stock? No. At the time, I could barely think a year ahead, let alone the 10 or 20 years ahead required for successful investing.

The Patience of the Long View

The long view moves at its own pace. It’s calm. It doesn’t rush.

Medieval artisans spent their lives building cathedrals they would never see completed. Grandparents plant trees, knowing they won't get to enjoy the shade. Writers keep writing, even when no one is reading, because they know mastery takes time.

And it’s not just about what we do but how we live.

When I started meditating at 36, I had no idea how to develop habits. But I knew one thing: I wanted to meditate for the rest of my life. So I wasn’t in a hurry. I started with just one minute a day for the first six months. That was enough. The long view let me take my time. It allowed the habit to develop naturally, without force.

I take the same approach with exercise. On days when I don’t feel as strong, I still move my body—just less than usual. Any exercise is infinitely better than none, and the long view reminds me that I’m not trying to “get anywhere.” It’s a practice, like everything else in life.

The long view also changes the way I show up in relationships. With my kids and partner, I don’t need to react to every frustration or every little challenge. The long view creates space. It allows me to respond rather than react.

And then there’s the never-ending to-do list. The long view reminds me that no matter how many things I check off today, there will always be 10,000 more things to do—today, tomorrow, and even the day I die. When I forget, I feel overwhelmed, and when I remember, I'm free.

The long view allows me to let go, take my time, and trust that I don’t have to force things. It reduces the pressure and reminds me that life isn’t a race to the finish and that I’m not behind.

Every day, I get to begin again.

Living Sip by Sip, Not Gulp by Gulp

I remind myself of this when I feel that creeping urgency—when my mind tells me I should be further along or that things aren’t happening fast enough. The long view shifts that. It removes the mental and emotional contraction, the feeling that I must squeeze the most productivity out of every moment.

Life isn’t going anywhere. It unfolds at its own pace, whether I rush or not.

Madison Keys' (recently won the Australian Open) father once said, Whatever you do has to be sustainable. If you’re too hard on yourself, you’ll burn out before you get there.

That applies to everything: work, relationships, personal growth, and writing. Even learning a new skill—piano, a new language, a craft—requires this kind of patience.

Hammering a nail is a good metaphor for how I think about it. If I hit it too hard, too fast, I bend it. If I hit it too softly, it would also bend. The harder the wood, the more careful I must be—small, deliberate taps, with just the proper force, until the nail sinks in. Everything worth building works the same way.

So, I return to the long view, not as a strategy or a life hack, but as a way of seeing.

A Question Worth Asking

I don’t have any advice.

I don’t know what the long view looks like for anyone else. But I know what it feels like when I get entangled in short-term thinking and caught up in comparison, urgency, or the pressure to figure everything out right now.

When I remember, I can breathe again. I think less about where I should be and more about what I’m cultivating. I think less about perfecting it today and more about tending to my deepest intentions over time.

So, I ask myself: What am I tending to now that might not bear fruit for years?

I don’t need an answer. I just need to keep asking.

Keep the long view,

Ryan

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Simba (Bichonpoo) and Bea (Doodle mix). They couldn’t have more distinct personalities.