I woke up at 3:00 AM last Tuesday, not because of a loud noise or a nightmare, but because my brain decided it was the perfect time to review a conversation I had three years ago. You know the feeling. That sudden, jolt-awake awareness that you’re behind on everything—even things that haven’t happened yet. I sat there in the dark, the blue light of my phone screen mocking me as I scrolled through emails that could have waited, and I realized something pretty uncomfortable. I’ve forgotten how to just… be.
We live in this world that demands we’re constantly “on.” If you aren’t optimizing your morning routine, you’re losing. If you aren’t side-hustling, you’re stagnant. It’s exhausting. I’m tired of it. And I think a lot of you are probably tired of it too. That’s why I’ve been leaning into this idea of “slow living.” Not the Instagram version with the perfect sourdough loaves and the white linen sheets—because, let’s be real, I have a dog that sheds and a mortgage—but a version that actually works for a normal human person.
The Cult of Being Busy
For a long time, I wore my busyness like a badge of honor. When someone asked how I was, my default answer was always, “Oh, you know, crazy busy!” I said it with a sort of weary pride. It meant I was important, right? It meant I was needed. But looking back, I wasn’t actually accomplishing much more; I was just vibrating at a higher frequency of stress. We’ve been conditioned to believe that if we aren’t moving at a breakneck speed, we’re falling behind.
It’s a strange trap. We buy faster cars to get to places we don’t want to be, and we use apps to save time so we can spend that saved time… looking at more apps. It’s a loop. I started noticing how often I’d check my phone while waiting for the kettle to boil. Those thirty seconds of “nothingness” felt intolerable. I had to fill them. That’s the first sign that the pace of the world has gotten under your skin—when you can’t even wait for water to boil without needing a hit of information.
The problem is that when everything is a priority, nothing is. When we treat every email, every notification, and every minor task with the same level of urgency, we burn out our internal gears. I’ve been there. I’ve hit that wall where even choosing what to have for dinner feels like a monumental task because my decision-making battery is just completely drained. Slow living isn’t about moving at a snail’s pace; it’s about knowing when to speed up and when to intentionally, stubbornly, slow down.
Redefining What “Slow” Really Means
Let’s clear something up: slow living isn’t about being lazy. In fact, I’d argue it takes a lot more effort to live slowly than it does to live fast. Living fast is easy; you just react to everything that hits you. Living slowly requires you to actually make choices. It’s about intentionality. It’s about choosing to do one thing at a time and doing it with your full attention.
I used to think this meant I had to move to a cabin in the woods and give up my internet connection. I don’t want to do that. I like my neighborhood, and I like being able to order pizza on a Friday night. The shift for me happened when I realized that slow living is an internal state, not an external zip code. It’s the difference between rushing through a meal while standing at the kitchen counter and actually sitting down, even for ten minutes, and tasting the food.
It’s About Quality over Quantity
I’ve started asking myself: “Does this actually need to be done right now, or am I just rushing because I feel like I should be?” Usually, it’s the latter. We have this phantom pressure to finish everything immediately. When I started giving myself permission to leave things for tomorrow, the sky didn’t fall. The world kept spinning. It was a revelation. By doing fewer things, I found I was actually enjoying the things I *was* doing so much more.
- Checking the mail becomes a walk, not a sprint.
- Coffee becomes a ritual, not just a caffeine delivery system.
- Conversations become about listening, not just waiting for your turn to speak.
The Guilt of Doing Nothing
This is the hardest part for me. Still is, if I’m honest. There is this deep-seated guilt that creeps in when I sit on the porch and just look at the trees for twenty minutes. My brain starts whispering: *You could be folding laundry. You could be responding to that text. You’re wasting time.* It’s a loud, annoying voice. But I’m learning to talk back to it.
Doing nothing is actually doing something. It’s giving your brain a chance to breathe. We are so overstimulated that our creative muscles are basically atrophied. Some of my best ideas—the ones that actually matter—don’t come when I’m staring at a screen. They come when I’m washing the dishes or walking the dog or just sitting there. We need that “white space” in our lives. Without it, we’re just echoes of everything we’ve consumed that day.
I remember a Saturday a few months ago. I had a whole list of chores. Instead of diving in, I decided to go for a long walk without my phone. Just me and the neighborhood. I felt twitchy for the first ten minutes. I kept reaching for my pocket. But then, I started noticing things. The way the light hit the bricks on the old bakery. The sound of someone’s wind chimes. By the time I got back, I felt… settled. I still did the chores, but I did them without that frantic, “get-it-done” energy. It felt different.
Practical (and Messy) Steps to Slowing Down
If you’re looking for a step-by-step guide, you won’t find one here. Everyone’s life is different. But I can tell you what’s worked for me, in all its imperfect glory. It’s not about a total overhaul; it’s about these tiny, almost invisible shifts that add up over time.
One of the biggest things was reclaiming my mornings. I used to reach for my phone before my eyes were even fully open. Now, I try—key word is *try*—to leave it in the other room for the first thirty minutes. I make my bed. I grind the coffee beans. I look out the window. It sounds cliché, I know. But starting the day on my own terms, rather than reacting to the world’s demands, changes the entire trajectory of my afternoon.
Audit Your “Yes”
We say yes to way too much. We say yes to social events we don’t want to attend, projects that don’t fulfill us, and favors that drain us. I’ve started practicing the “graceful no.” It’s okay to say, “I’d love to help, but I just don’t have the capacity for that right now.” You don’t even have to give an excuse. Your time is your own. It’s the only truly non-renewable resource you have. Once it’s gone, you don’t get a refund.
I also started “un-stuffing” my house. Clutter is just visual noise. It’s hard to feel slow and intentional when you’re surrounded by piles of things you don’t use and don’t even particularly like. I’m not talking about full-blown minimalism—I still have three different sets of mugs—but just clearing off the surfaces. It’s amazing how much calmer a room feels when it has room to breathe. The same goes for our schedules. We need to leave gaps. Don’t book things back-to-back. Give yourself ten minutes to just transition from one thing to another.
The Digital Weight We Carry
We can’t talk about slow living without talking about the glowing rectangle in your pocket. I love my phone, but I also recognize that it is a direct pipeline to the fast-paced noise we’re trying to escape. The notifications, the news cycles, the endless scrolling… it’s all designed to keep us hooked and hurried.
I turned off almost all my notifications. Every single one. If someone needs me, they can call. I don’t need to know the second someone likes a photo or when a store is having a flash sale. This small change reduced my daily anxiety by a huge margin. I also started putting my phone to “bed” at 9:00 PM. It stays in the kitchen. The first few nights, I felt like I was missing out on something. But guess what? I wasn’t. The world was still there in the morning, and I was much better rested to deal with it.
Social media is another one. It’s the ultimate thief of time. I’m not saying you have to delete everything, but maybe try observing how you feel after using it. Do you feel inspired? Or do you feel like you’re behind? For me, it was often the latter. I started following fewer accounts and spending more time looking at the people right in front of me. It’s a work in progress. Some days I still fall down the rabbit hole for an hour, and that’s okay. It’s about the direction you’re heading, not perfection.
It’s a Journey, Not a Destination
There are days when my life is still loud and fast. There are days when I’m stressed and snapping at people and checking my email every five minutes. Slow living isn’t a state of permanent Zen. It’s a practice. It’s about noticing when you’ve drifted off course and gently bringing yourself back.
I’ve found that the more I practice this, the more I appreciate the small things. The taste of a really good apple. The way the air feels right before it rains. The quiet hum of the house at night. These things were always there, I was just moving too fast to see them.
If you’re feeling overwhelmed, just start small. You don’t need to change your whole life tomorrow. Maybe just try eating one meal today without your phone. Or take the long way home and look at the trees. See how it feels. You might find that the world doesn’t actually need you to be “on” all the time. You might find that you’ve been missing the best parts of your own life because you were too busy trying to get to the next thing.
I’m still learning. I think I’ll always be learning. But I’m enjoying the walk a lot more now that I’ve stopped running. It’s quieter here, and the view is much better.