Why I Skip the Moving Sidewalk

Last week, I was dragging my suitcase through another airport, bleary-eyed, when I saw it: the moving sidewalk, humming along, promising to carry me faster. Everyone was on it—heads down, coasting. I wanted to step on, let it pull me through my exhaustion. But I didn’t. I kept walking. Something in me said, “Tim, you’re already coasting too much.” That’s when it hit me: I’ve been coasting in life, and it’s pulling me apart.

I’ve coached pastors for 20 years to lead real—heart, body, mind—the whole deal. Not to limp through ministry, but to live it fully. And right now, I’m slipping. Travel’s been relentless—airports, redeye flights, late-night Zooms. My morning quiet time? Once 60 minutes of stillness with God, now 20, more like a speed date than a connection. My daily walk? Every three days, if the inbox gives me a break. Sleep? Seven hours is a daydream; six is what I’m scraping by on. My back’s sore, my brain’s foggy, my heart’s gathering cobwebs. I teach WholeCare™ every day, and I’m dodging my own advice. The irony’s bitter as my Americano.

I’m not whining. I’m confessing. If I’m coasting, you’re likely gliding along too. I got an email from a Missouri pastor this morning. His words cut deep, “I just want to take care of my soul so I can be the best pastor I can be.” That’s you, right? That’s me. We want to lead strong, love well, stay true. But we’re letting schedules, guilt, and ministry’s hum pull us along. I’ve been blaming my calendar, but it’s not got me on a leash—or you—unless we let it. And I’ve been letting it drag me. 

Coasting: When You Fade on Autopilot

Coasting isn’t burnout’s loud crash. It’s quieter, a slow fade. You’re preaching, counseling, smiling, but you’re on a moving sidewalk, letting the role carry you while your life slips. Your prayers are bullet points. Your body’s waving a white flag. Your heart’s whispering, “I’m fading,” but you paste on “I’m fine” for the next meeting. It’s not weakness—it’s you being human. Every pastor I know, from Missouri to Maine, is riding the same track.

Here’s what we miss: coasting’s how we dodge our health. Not just our soul, but our whole self—heart, body, mind, relationships, calling. I’m not just tired; I’m letting my calendar play me. I traded quiet time for emails. I skipped walks for “one more task.” I let “urgent” swipe my sleep. It’s not just me. I coached a pastor last month who hadn’t felt joy—real, unforced joy—in a year. He shrugged, said he was “okay.” He was coasting. So am I. Are you?

The kicker? Ministry keeps the sidewalk moving. It hands out medals for hustle—crammed calendars, late nights, the “I’m stretched thin” trophy. We treat neglect like it’s our ordination vow, as if Jesus said, “Blessed are the run-down.” He didn’t. Coasting isn’t your calling; it’s a treadmill you can’t pause. 

 A 3-Minute Gut Check

You don’t need a retreat to see where you’re at. Grab a pen, your phone, anything. Answer these three questions, raw, like I did:

1. When’s the last time you felt alive—just being you—not just playing the part? (Me: Weeks. My prayers are sermon scraps with a guilt chaser.)

2. What pain are you ducking—body, heart, relationships? (Me: My back’s sore from skipped walks, and I’m lonelier than I’ll say aloud.)

3. If someone who loves you saw your life, what would they beg you to fix? (Me: My wife’d say, “Tim, you need more sleep. You can't keep this up.”)

Three minutes. That’s your mirror. Mine says I’m coasting. What’s yours saying?

One Anchor Habit

Forget big plans. We’re too worn for that. Pick one anchor habit—small, stubborn, yours. For me, it’s 20 minutes of silence each morning. No phone, no apps, just me and God, breathing. Not 60, not 40—20. My stand. What’s yours? Five minutes of prayer with no asks? A walk around the block? One night in bed by 9:30? Pick it. Do it today. Tomorrow, again. It’s not much, but it’s a step.

Audit Your Schedule

Your calendar’s not in charge. You are. Open it. Find one thing this week that’s draining you dry. That elder meeting that drags. That critic’s email spiral. Cut it. Say no. I just skipped a Zoom call I didn’t need—felt like I took back a piece of myself. Guilt knocking? Tell it to get lost. Your health’s worth more than another “yes.” What can you ditch?

Ask Your Person

You’re not alone, even if ministry’s got you feeling like it. Ask someone who loves you—spouse, friend, mentor—one question: “Where am I coasting?” My wife didn’t flinch: “You’re not sleeping, Tim, and it’s turning you grumpy.” Ouch. True. Your person sees something. Ask. Listen. Act. It’s not judgment; it’s love pulling you off the track.

A Map, If You Need It

Want a clearer view? I built the Pastor Health Index (PHI). It’s free, private, 20 questions to check your health—heart, body, mind. I took it last week. And it stung. But it showed me where I’m at. It’s not a cure; it’s a map. Use it, or stick with the gut check and your person’s honesty. Just step off the sidewalk.

Step Off and Walk

I’m not preaching from a high horse. I’m in the thick of it, packing a suitcase for another week of West Coast church meetings next week, surviving on coffee and grit. But I’m done coasting. You’re not chained to your calendar, your church, or your own slip-ups. You’re a pastor, called to lead from a life that’s whole, not half-gone.

That Missouri pastor’s email is still ringing in my head. He’s fighting to step off the sidewalk, and so am I. So are you. Do the gut check. Pick your anchor. Cut the junk. Ask your person. Start now—not when the pews are packed or the budget’s flush. Your life—your whole, God-given life—isn’t luggage on a moving sidewalk. It’s the fire of your calling. Let’s walk. Together.◼︎ 

Tim Eldred has spent over 35 years in pastoral ministry and coaches pastors and churches who are ready to move beyond merely surviving. He founded The Authentic Pastor to help ministry leaders find freedom from the pressures and systems that wear them down.