Doing things slowly feels almost rebellious now.
Everything around us is built for speed — fast food, fast opinions, fast results, fast fixes. If something takes time, we assume it’s broken. If someone moves slowly, we assume they’re lazy or behind.
I don’t see it that way anymore.
Slowness, when it’s chosen, isn’t weakness. It’s control.
I’ve learned that rushing almost always costs more in the end. More money. More stress. More mistakes. When I slow down — whether it’s working in the yard, fixing something in the garage, or just making a meal — things tend to come out better. Not perfect. Just better.
There’s a difference between being productive and being hurried, and that distinction is a big part of why I choose a slower life in the first place.
When I work slowly, I notice things. I catch small problems before they become big ones. I enjoy the process instead of racing toward the finish line. It’s the same reason gardening feels different than buying food, or cooking from scratch feels different than grabbing something processed. You’re present for the whole thing.
This kind of pace doesn’t fit modern life very well. People want instant answers and visible progress. Slowness looks like nothing is happening — until it does.
I’ve found that slowing down also makes room for rest that actually restores you, not the kind that just numbs you for a few hours. Sitting outside. Watching the weather change. Letting your thoughts wander without needing to solve anything. That kind of quiet time is closer to what I wrote about in the difference between rest and escaping.
I’m not slow all the time. Life doesn’t allow that. Kids, responsibilities, deadlines — they exist. But I try to return to a slower pace whenever I can, because that’s where I feel like myself again.
Doing things slowly isn’t about escaping life.
It’s about staying connected to it.
– Just a note from the yard.