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Hey there, fellow wanderers and seekers of the quiet life,

It’s not every day you stumble across a book – or an audiobook, for that matter – that feels like it’s speaking directly to the restless hum inside your chest. “The Ruthless Elimination of Hurry: How to Stay Emotionally Healthy and Spiritually Alive in the Chaos of the Modern World” by John Mark Comer, narrated by Comer himself alongside Kris Koscheski, is one of those rare finds. The moment I pressed play, it reminded me of a time when I was weaving through the crowded streets of Oaxaca, the air thick with the scent of mole and the chatter of vendors, yet somehow feeling utterly disconnected from it all. I’d been racing from one adventure to the next, chasing stories for my travel memoir, when I realized I’d lost the thread of my own. That’s when Comer’s voice – calm, grounded, and carrying that subtle urgency – cut through the noise like a lighthouse beam slicing through fog.

The premise of this audiobook is as simple as it is profound: hurry is the silent killer of our spiritual and emotional health. Comer, a pastor turned cultural observer, doesn’t just preach this from a pulpit; he lives it, and you can hear that authenticity in every word. The story unfolds like a slow walk through a bustling city that gradually fades into a quiet forest trail. He asks, ‘Who am I becoming?’ – a question that hit me square in the gut as I recalled those endless nights in far-flung hostels, scribbling notes for “Stories from the Road”, only to wake up feeling emptier than the day before. Comer argues that our modern obsession with busyness isn’t just a bad habit – it’s a spiritual epidemic. Drawing from his own unraveling as a successful yet burned-out pastor, he offers a roadmap to reclaiming a slower, simpler life rooted in presence and faith.

What makes this audiobook experience stand out is how Comer’s ideas resonate with anyone who’s ever felt the weight of the world’s pace. It’s prophetic yet practical, blending Christian spirituality with a universal hunger for wellness that transcends doctrine. He leans on wisdom from mentors and thinkers – like Dallas Willard, who famously told him to ‘ruthlessly eliminate hurry’ – and pairs it with a naturopathic sensibility that feels almost New Age in its call to realign with natural rhythms. You can almost taste the relief in his voice as he unpacks practices like Sabbath rest or silencing the smartphone’s constant ping. For me, it brought back memories of staying with a family in Oaxaca, where their grandmother would hush the room with a single raised hand, her stories unfolding in the stillness like petals falling from a jacaranda tree. That’s the kind of intimacy Comer channels here.

Now, let’s talk about the narration, because this is where the audiobook truly shines – or stumbles, depending on your taste. Comer narrates most of it himself, and his voice is a warm, steady companion, like a friend sharing hard-earned wisdom over coffee. There’s a down-to-earth quality to his delivery that makes you feel he’s right there with you, not preaching from on high. You can hear the weariness of his past hurry and the peace he’s found in its absence – it’s raw and real. Kris Koscheski steps in for some sections, and his crisp, professional tone adds a nice contrast, almost like a narrator in a documentary cutting away to explain the bigger picture. The audio quality is pristine, clocking in at just over 5 hours, which feels like the perfect length for a road trip or a long weekend of reflection. That said, the shift between voices can feel jarring at times; I found myself missing Comer’s personal touch when Koscheski took over. It’s a small quibble, but for a book so rooted in one man’s journey, I craved more of his presence.

The content itself is a feast for the soul, though it’s not without its limits. Comer’s case against hurry is compelling – backed by scripture, psychology, and sheer common sense – but it’s most powerful if you’re already leaning into a spiritual lens, particularly a Christian one. His anecdotes about church life and Jesus’ teachings hit home for me, especially as I recalled listening to “One Hundred Years of Solitude” while driving through the Atacama Desert, the narrator’s voice weaving magic into the barren expanse. But if you’re not wired for faith, some sections might feel like they’re speaking past you. Still, his broader point about our culture’s toxicity transcends belief, landing squarely in the realm of health and wellness. I’d have loved a bit more grit – maybe a deeper dive into the messiness of implementing these changes – but what’s here is undeniably life-giving.

Compared to something like Brené Brown’s “Daring Greatly”, which I’ve reviewed before, Comer’s work is less about vulnerability’s raw edges and more about carving out space to feel human again. Both books tackle modern malaise, but where Brown digs into shame, Comer unearths hurry as the root of our disconnection. His style is less academic than Brown’s, more like a storyteller spinning a yarn you can’t help but lean into. It’s a listening experience that pairs beautifully with a quiet evening or a long drive – anywhere you can let the words settle into your bones.

For potential listeners, I’d recommend this audiobook to anyone feeling stretched thin by life’s demands – travelers, parents, dreamers, skeptics – whoever you are, if you’ve ever wondered why peace feels so elusive, this might be your map. It’s not a quick fix; it’s a slow burn, and that’s the point. If you can snag it as a free audiobook through a trial on Audiobooks.com (which I’ve done more times than I can count on my journeys), even better – there’s something poetic about accessing stillness without rushing your wallet.

Reflecting on it now, this audiobook feels like a companion I didn’t know I needed. It’s nudged me to rethink my own pace – less sprinting through airports, more savoring the coffee in my hand. It’s not perfect, and it won’t solve every modern woe, but it’s a d*mn fine start. The next time I’m racing to catch a story, I’ll hear Comer’s voice in my head, urging me to slow down and ask, ‘Who am I becoming?’ And maybe, just maybe, I’ll listen.

Until our paths cross again on this wild, winding road, Marcus Rivera