On Moving Slower

I’ve been thinking about how often we confuse speed with progress.

Moving quickly feels productive. Purposeful. Necessary. We learn early on that momentum matters — that slowing down means falling behind, missing something, losing ground, even that we’re being lazy. 

But lately, I’ve been noticing how much gets lost when everything is rushed.

Moments blur together. Meals are eaten without tasting. Days pass without leaving much of an impression. Have you ever forgotten what you had for lunch yesterday? Often times when reflecting on the week we think of only the big moments, which can be heavily geared towards conflicts or moments of high stress. We move from one obligation to the next, rarely stopping long enough to feel where we are.

Slowing down isn’t always comfortable. But it creates space — and space has a way of revealing what we’ve been avoiding. Stillness asks us to sit with ourselves without distraction, without noise, without urgency.

And yet, when we allow it, something shifts.

Details become sharper. Time feels fuller. Ordinary moments carry more weight. Not because life has changed, but because our attention has.

I don’t think moving slower means doing less. I think it means doing things with presence. Letting moments unfold without trying to rush past them. Allowing life to meet us where we are instead of constantly pushing toward what’s next.

I’m still practicing this, it’s certainly not easy. I try to catch myself when I hurry through moments that deserve more care. Still learning that nothing meaningful is lost by slowing down.

If anything, more is found.