When Life Feels Like It’s on Fast-Forward (Turn Off the Big Light)
It was Christmas like two seconds ago—and today, I saw Christmas stuff in the shops. It’s August, for perspective. But if you live somewhere that celebrates Christmas, you know the feeling.
I have a couple of “weird” obsessions. OK, maybe more than a couple: lights, stemware, Japanese Acers, Disney, Jiu-Jitsu... you guys should know me well enough by now. I digress. One thing I’ve always been drawn to is lighting. As a treat to myself (yes, really), if I’m in a hardware store for the boring stuff of life—paint, screws, compost—I’ll detour down the lighting aisle just to ogle the fittings.
In the UK, we affectionately call ceiling lights “the big light,” which feels very accurate.
I rarely turn mine on.
They’re just too much—too bright, too clinical. They highlight every speck of dust I missed on the skirting boards. Lamps, on the other hand? I’m obsessed. I have a lot. More than I use. I love how they make everything feel warm and safe, like my home is giving me a soft, cosy hug. Even in summer.
This morning, while eating breakfast, I started thinking about everything I wanted to do today.
Cue the flux capacitor shooting my brain into warp speed—Doc would’ve been proud. Lightning flashed, everything lit up, and I’d mentally fast-forwarded through my entire schedule: work, errands, evening plans... and somehow I’d already landed in bed, exhausted. Before 9 a.m.
It was like I’d flicked the big light on in my brain—illuminated every detail of my life in one overwhelming flash.
I felt like I’d stepped onto a rollercoaster called “Becky’s Day” (catchy, I know—Disney, call me), launched from 0 to 100 mph, cheeks pulled back, chest tight, stomach dropped, hair blown out behind me, and landed with a jolt at the loading bay of bedtime.
My day was already done in my head before I’d even taken my second sip of coffee—or pulled down my lap bar.
And that’s when it hit me.
This—this is why life feels like it's zooming past.
It’s why we see Christmas cards in August, blink, and suddenly it’s Christmas Eve and we’re panic-buying something for the uncle we’ve met twice but who will definitely be at dinner.
It’s living on fast-forward.
Turning on all the lights in your mind—so much gets illuminated that we don’t really see anything.
But here’s the magic: because I’ve practiced feeling my body, I noticed. And I pulled the emergency brake.
I’m not a rollercoaster girlie for fun—why would I stay on one I made up in my own head? (note here - I MADE UP IN MY MIND. I did it. it wasn't forced upon me. That means I can stop it).
So I took a breath. I stroked Flynn’s chin—he’d rested it on my leg in an attempt to get attention I’d temporarily missed. I sipped my coffee. I looked out at the garden. And I imagined that instead of the harsh big light of warp speed, I had a beautiful lantern glowing inside me. One of those ornate Moroccan ones. Just enough light to gently illuminate this moment.
And I softened. My body relaxed. My day slowed down.
💡 Why This Might Be the Real Reason You Procrastinate
I’ve been diving into the science behind procrastination lately. And fun fact? It turns out we don’t procrastinate because we’re lazy—we procrastinate because we have unsafe or uncomfortable feelings in our bodies around the thing we “need” to do.
So when everything is lit up in your head, it makes total sense that all you want to do is stare at a wall (or doomscroll until your eyeballs dry out).
When we bring the overwhelm down, starting gets so much easier.
Because instead of trying to do everything, which means we freeze and do nothing, we can just find the first, smallest thing—and do that. Which leads to the next thing. And the next. You see where I’m going.
Is this the whole story of procrastination? No. But it’s a really solid start.
And honestly? If you nail this bit, you might not even need the next post I write about it.
🌙 Your Takeaway?
Next time your life feels like it’s racing ahead of you—
Notice your stomach.
Feel your heartbeat.
Check if the big light is on.
And if it is… take a breath.
Switch your view to something close by.
Find something blue.
Stroke your dog, your own leg, your hair—whatever grounds you—and switch it off.
Imagine your version of a lantern instead. Let it cast a quiet glow over just this moment.
See how your body feels.
And then—come tell me.