Just be patient. Let the game come to you. Don't rush. Be quick

In the golden age of the hardwood court, when the game of basketball was both artistry and battle, the magician of the floor, Earl “the Pearl” Monroe, offered words that shimmer with the wisdom of patience and poise: “Just be patient. Let the game come to you. Don’t rush. Be quick, but don’t hurry.” These words, though spoken for the court, echo as timeless counsel for life itself, for they reveal the secret balance between readiness and restraint, between speed and control, between passion and patience.

To be patient is not to be idle, but to trust in the rhythm of the moment. The impatient man forces the play, rushing forward without vision, and so he stumbles. But the patient one waits, watching the movement of his teammates and the defense, sensing the right opening. In this, Monroe teaches that life, like basketball, is not conquered by frantic striving, but by attunement—by waiting for the right time, and then seizing it with precision.

The phrase “be quick, but don’t hurry” strikes at the heart of wisdom. For there is a difference between speed born of readiness and haste born of panic. The quick man has prepared himself; his body and mind are sharp, his movements precise. The hurried man is reckless, flailing without thought, consumed by fear of time slipping away. Monroe’s counsel reminds us that excellence is never frantic; it is fast, but also composed, like the arrow shot straight by a steady hand.

The ancients knew this truth as well. Think of Miyamoto Musashi, the great samurai of Japan, who wrote in The Book of Five Rings that haste is the enemy of the warrior. He counseled his students to move with swiftness, but never with panic, for the blade wielded in hurry is the blade that misses its mark. So too in Monroe’s game: the dribble, the pass, the shot must be executed quickly, yet never rashly. The warrior and the athlete both know that composure is the crown of mastery.

We see this teaching in Monroe’s own play. Known for his dazzling moves, he did not rush recklessly into chaos. His artistry lay in patience, in luring defenders into traps, in waiting for the moment when his quickness could be unleashed with devastating effect. Crowds marveled not merely at his speed, but at his timing. He embodied the truth he spoke: let the game come, then move with grace.

The lesson extends beyond sport. In the battles of life—whether in work, in love, or in personal struggle—there are moments when we are tempted to rush, to force outcomes before their time. Yet the wise know that fruit picked too early is sour, and words spoken in haste wound more than they heal. Instead, prepare yourself daily, keep your spirit sharp, and when the right moment arrives, move with quickness and clarity, but never with panic.

So let the teaching of Earl Monroe be carried forward: “Just be patient. Let the game come to you. Don’t rush. Be quick, but don’t hurry.” Practice readiness, cultivate patience, and strike when the hour is ripe. For life is not won by frantic striving, but by those who trust the rhythm, who know the difference between speed and haste, and who walk the narrow path of calm precision. In this balance lies mastery, and in mastery, victory.