I was sitting at my kitchen table last Tuesday morning, just staring at the steam rising off my coffee, and I realized I didn’t want to move. It wasn’t that I was physically exhausted—though, let’s be honest, I usually am—it was more of a deep, quiet realization that the race I’ve been running for the last decade doesn’t actually have a finish line. I had this long list of things to do, people to email, and goals to “crush,” and suddenly, it all just felt incredibly heavy. Like I was carrying a backpack full of wet rocks for no reason other than someone told me that’s what successful people do.
We live in this culture that treats being “busy” as a badge of honor. You know the one. You ask a friend how they are, and they don’t say “happy” or “content”; they say “so busy!” with a mix of pride and fatigue. I’ve been that person. I’ve worn that badge until it was pinned so tightly it started to hurt. But lately, I’ve been wondering: what are we actually hurrying toward? Is the goal just to get to the end of the day so we can do it all over again tomorrow? It’s a strange way to live, if you think about it for more than a second.
The Great Lie of the Finish Line
I used to tell myself that I just needed to get through this “one busy season.” Then, I’d tell myself that once I hit a certain income goal or finished a specific project, I could finally breathe. But the truth is, the finish line is a ghost. Every time you think you’re getting close, the goalposts move. You get the promotion, but now you have more responsibility. You get the bigger house, but now you have more to clean and a higher mortgage to feed. It’s a cycle that feeds on our desire for “more” while quietly starving our need for “enough.”
It’s funny how we’re taught to value growth above everything else. In nature, things that grow indefinitely are usually a problem. Trees have a maximum height. Seasons have a beginning and an end. But in our work lives, we’ve convinced ourselves that if we aren’t constantly expanding, we’re failing. I’m starting to think that “staying the same” or even “shrinking” might actually be a form of progress if it means you’re actually enjoying your Tuesday afternoons.
I remember talking to my grandfather about this years ago. He worked in a factory for forty years. He didn’t have a “personal brand.” He didn’t “optimize his morning routine.” He just worked his shift, came home, worked in his garden, and ate dinner with my grandmother. At the time, I thought it seemed a bit boring. Now, looking back from the middle of my own chaotic life, it sounds like absolute bliss. There was a clear boundary between who he was at work and who he was as a human being. We’ve lost that boundary.
The Noise and the Silence
One of the hardest parts about slowing down is the silence that comes with it. When you stop the constant noise of the hustle—the podcasts, the notifications, the endless planning—you’re left with your own thoughts. And man, those thoughts can be loud. For a long time, I think I stayed busy just so I didn’t have to listen to myself. I didn’t want to face the fact that I wasn’t sure if I even liked the path I was on.
But when you sit in that silence for a while, something shifts. You start to notice things. The way the light hits the floor in the afternoon. The sound of the wind in the trees. The fact that your shoulders have been up around your ears for three hours. It’s uncomfortable at first, like wearing a new pair of boots that haven’t been broken in yet. But eventually, you start to feel like yourself again. Not the “productive” version of yourself, but the real one.
I’ve started taking long walks without my phone. No music, no audiobooks, just me and the sidewalk. The first few times, I felt an itchy kind of anxiety. I felt like I was wasting time. “I could be learning something right now,” my brain would whisper. But then I realized: I *was* learning something. I was learning how to be present in my own life. I was learning that the world doesn’t stop turning just because I’m not “achieving” something for forty-five minutes.
Redefining What It Means to Be Productive
We’ve been conditioned to think that productivity is about quantity. How many items did you check off the list? How many hours did you log? But I’m trying to flip that script. Now, I’m trying to measure my days by the quality of my attention. Did I really listen to my partner when we were talking over dinner? Did I actually feel the sun on my face when I went outside? Did I do one thing today with total focus and care, rather than five things with a distracted mind?
It’s a hard shift to make. Our society isn’t built for slow and steady. It’s built for fast and cheap. But fast and cheap usually leads to burnout and a feeling of emptiness. I’ve found that when I do less, I actually care more about what I’m doing. My work is better. My relationships are deeper. My coffee even tastes better because I’m actually tasting it, not just gulping it down as fuel for the next task.
Here are a few things I’ve started doing to reclaim my sanity:
- I stopped checking my phone the moment I wake up. The world can wait fifteen minutes while I stretch and look out the window.
- I started saying “no” to things that don’t feel right, even if I have the time on my calendar. Just because I’m free doesn’t mean I’m available.
- I’ve embraced the “good enough” philosophy. Not everything needs to be perfect. Most things just need to be done.
- I spend more time doing things that have no “output”—like reading a novel or doodling in a notebook.
The Joy of Being Unproductive
There is a specific kind of magic in doing something just because you want to do it, with no intention of monetizing it or sharing it on social media. I’ve taken up baking bread lately. It’s a slow, messy process that takes hours and often results in a loaf that looks a bit lopsided. But the act of kneading the dough, of waiting for it to rise, of smelling it in the oven… it’s incredibly grounding. It’s a reminder that good things take time and that the process is just as important as the result.
In the hustle culture, everything is a means to an end. You exercise to look a certain way. You read to get smarter. You network to get a better job. But what if we did things just for the sake of doing them? What if we went for a run because it felt good to move? What if we read a book because the story was beautiful? There’s a freedom in that. It takes the pressure off. You can’t fail at a hobby if the goal isn’t to be “the best” at it.
Learning to Sit Still
Sitting still is a skill. I honestly think it’s one of the most important skills we can learn in this day and age. I don’t mean formal meditation, although that’s great if it works for you. I just mean the ability to sit in a chair and not do anything. To just be. It’s incredibly difficult at first. Your brain will start listing all the things you should be doing. It will try to convince you that you’re being lazy. But laziness is a myth created by people who want you to work harder for them.
When you sit still, you start to see the difference between what’s urgent and what’s actually important. Most of the things that stress us out are urgent but not important. The emails, the social media drama, the latest news cycle—they all demand our attention *right now*. But the important things—our health, our families, our sense of peace—those things are rarely loud. They’re quiet. They wait for us to notice them. If we’re always rushing, we’ll miss them every time.
How to Start Stepping Back
If you’re feeling that same weight I was feeling, you don’t have to quit your job and move to a cabin in the woods (unless you want to, in which case, send me a postcard). You can start small. It’s about creating pockets of “slow” in your day. It’s about setting boundaries that protect your headspace. It’s about being honest with yourself about what you actually want your life to look like.
I started by setting a “hard stop” for my workday. At 5:30 PM, the laptop closes, and it doesn’t open again until the next morning. No matter what. At first, I felt guilty. I thought I was being “unprofessional.” But you know what happened? Nothing. The world didn’t end. My clients didn’t fire me. In fact, because I was better rested, I was actually more pleasant to work with the next day. Who knew?
Another thing is the “one thing at a time” rule. I used to pride myself on being a multi-tasker. Now, I realize that multi-tasking is just a way to do several things poorly at once. If I’m writing, I’m writing. If I’m eating, I’m eating. If I’m talking to a friend, my phone is in another room. It sounds simple, but it’s surprisingly radical in a world that wants you to be everywhere at once.
A Different Kind of Ambition
I still have goals. I still want to do good work. But my ambition has changed its shape. Instead of wanting to be “at the top,” I want to be “at peace.” I want to be known as someone who is reliable and kind, not just someone who is busy and successful. I want to have enough time to help a neighbor or linger over a long lunch without checking my watch.
This isn’t about giving up. It’s about choosing what’s worth struggling for. We only have a limited amount of energy and time on this planet. Why would we spend it all on things that don’t make us feel alive? I’d rather have a smaller life that feels spacious than a big life that feels like a cage.
I’m still practicing. Some days I fall back into the old habits. I catch myself scrolling through my phone or rushing through a task just to get it over with. But when I do, I try to be gentle with myself. I take a breath, I put the phone down, and I remember that cup of coffee on Tuesday morning. I remember the steam. I remember the stillness. And I choose to slow down again.
It’s a journey, I suppose. And for once, I’m not in any hurry to get to the end of it. I think I’ll just walk for a while and see where the path leads. There’s a lot to see along the way if you just stop running long enough to look.