I didn’t choose a slower life because it was trendy.
I chose it because everything else started to feel wrong.
For a long time, I did what everyone does. I chased productivity. I stayed busy. I filled empty moments with noise, screens, and constant motion. Even when I was exhausted, I kept going. Even when nothing felt finished, I moved on to the next thing.
It got to a point where I wasn’t really spending time with anyone in my own house. I was just getting through the day. Work, responsibilities, noise. Then some TV. Maybe games late into the night when I should have been sleeping. None of it was actually relaxing — it just delayed rest.
At some point, I realized something simple and unsettling:
I was surviving days, not living them.
I don’t remember one dramatic breaking moment. Just the slow awareness that I was busy, tired, and strangely absent from my own life.
And I didn’t want that to be normal.
Slowness Isn’t Laziness
A lot of people confuse slowing down with giving up.
If you’re not grinding, hustling, or constantly improving, you must be lazy.
That couldn’t be further from the truth.
A slower life doesn’t mean doing nothing. It means doing fewer things on purpose. It means choosing depth over speed and presence over constant motion.
I work hard. I take care of my family. I maintain our home. I garden. I fix things. I’m busy most days.
But I don’t worship busyness.
There’s a difference.
I’ve written before about why I don’t believe in hustle culture anymore.
The Noise Got Too Loud
Modern life is loud in ways people barely notice anymore.
Notifications. News cycles. Opinions. Ads. Endless entertainment. Even “relaxing” usually comes with noise attached to it.
I started to realize that most entertainment isn’t neutral. It keeps your brain switched on — alert, reactive, half stuck in fight-or-flight. Even when you’re resting, your nervous system rarely is.
I noticed how often I reached for a screen just to fill space. How uncomfortable silence felt at first. How rare it was to sit without distraction.
Slowing down, sometimes, is just sitting with your thoughts.
Now my nights look different. Instead of chasing distraction, I slow things down. Sometimes I’ll sit in a dark room before bed. No phone. No TV. Letting my mind settle instead of pushing it away.
Part of slowing down is learning how to rest again.
Good sleep isn’t a luxury — it’s foundational.
I’ve written before about sitting in silence and doing nothing, and it’s still one of the most grounding practices in my life. Even ten quiet minutes can reset something inside you.
Silence isn’t empty.
It’s restorative.
Slowing Down Made Things Clearer
When you slow down, uncomfortable things surface.
You start noticing:
- how little time you actually have
- how fast your kids are growing
- how much energy you spend worrying about things you can’t control
But you also notice the good stuff:
- the way the sky looks at dusk
- birds in the yard
- the satisfaction of finishing something with your hands
Slowing down doesn’t make life easier.
It makes it more honest.
This Is About Values, Not Escaping
People sometimes assume slowing down means rejecting modern life entirely.
That’s not what this is.
I still use technology. I still live in town. I still deal with responsibilities and stress. I’m not pretending otherwise.
This is about choosing what matters and letting go of what doesn’t.
That’s why homesteading, to me, isn’t about land ownership — it’s about values. I wrote more about that in What Homesteading Really Means to Me (And What It Doesn’t), because the philosophy matters more than the aesthetics.
You don’t need acres of land to live intentionally. You don’t need to be off-grid. You just need to decide how you want to spend your time and attention.
Slowing Down Changed How I Parent
One of the biggest changes I’ve noticed since slowing down is how I show up as a parent.
When life is constant motion — schedules, errands, noise — it’s hard to regulate down. It’s easier to react than to understand. Easier to raise your voice than to slow your response.
Slowing down has made me more patient. More present. More aware of what my kids actually need in the moment.
I don’t feel the same pressure that everything has to be done right now. The day doesn’t feel like it’s constantly slipping away. That alone changes how I respond.
Kids don’t need a perfect childhood.
They need a present parent.
They don’t remember productivity.
They remember presence.
Being outside. Helping in the garden. Watching you fix something instead of throwing it away.
Slowing down didn’t just change my schedule.
It changed my temperament.
There’s No Finish Line
A slower life isn’t something you achieve and check off a list.
It’s a constant choice.
Some days I still get pulled back into the noise. Some weeks feel rushed and chaotic. That’s normal.
But I always come back to the same realization:
Nothing meaningful in my life has ever benefited from being rushed.
Not relationships.
Not learning.
Not healing.
Not joy.
Why I’m Writing This Blog
This blog exists because I needed a place to put these thoughts.
Not to convince anyone.
Not to sell an image.
Not to pretend life is perfect.
Just to document a quieter way of living that feels more human.
Most of what I write here comes from everyday life — working with my hands, spending time outside, raising kids, cooking real food, and sitting in silence when the world feels overwhelming.
If any of that resonates with you, you’re probably already moving slower than you think.
A slower life isn’t about doing less.
It’s about doing what matters — fully.
— Just a note from the yard.