It Takes a Lot of Energy to Be Slow

There's a paradox I've been sitting with lately: it takes tremendous energy to slow down. Counterintuitive, isn't it? We imagine slowness as some absence of effort, but I'm finding it's quite the opposite.

I woke up this morning with the sunrise instead of my alarm. I just sat with my coffee, watching the light change the color of my walls from gray to gold. And you know what? It took everything in me not to reach for my phone and mentally rehearse today's meetings.

I obsess with the idea of productivity, specifically as I now need to juggle with a family, a full-time job, and a side job, and try to stay connected to half of my loved ones living abroad. And also because we're constantly told to hustle, to optimize, to squeeze in more from every minute.
But I'm learning that slowness creates the space where self-awareness and meaning grow. Where connections deepen. Where ideas that matter take root.

Your nervous system needs moments of genuine rest to function. Your creativity requires fallow periods. Your heart needs time to feel what it feels without immediately analyzing the feeling for its usefulness.

The Discipline of Stillness

Here's something I rarely admit: being slow is hard and requires more discipline, not less, than being busy. I've had to become fiercely organized with my time to protect pockets of slowness. Paradoxically, I need careful structure to create unstructured time.

Sometimes I set a timer for 20 minutes just to take a breather and look outside, which can sound ridiculous… Scheduling non-doing feels absurd, but it somehow also feels like that’s what this world requires of us.

I'm also discovering that slowness isn't something you achieve, rather something you practice. Some days I fail. Some days I remember halfway through. The commitment isn't to perfection; it's to returning to the intention over and over again.

Finding Stillness Within the Storm

How do we reconcile this with the reality of deadlines, responsibilities, and bills to pay? I don't have perfect answers, just imperfect experiments. Sometimes it's as simple as taking a full breath between tasks. Sometimes it's protecting Sundays entirely.

My daily morning walks are for instance something that I cherish and have been practicing for years now. It gives me the fuel and the space I need to start my day with a clear and available mind. I also noticed the clarifying freeing power of decluttering - your feed, your space, your relationships, your endless time-consuming doom scrolls. It was uncomfortable at first, like quitting caffeine. Then freeing.

Listening Inward

My most reliable compass has become the quiet signals from my body. That tightness in my shoulders telling me I've been staring at screens too long. The subtle lift in my chest when an idea resonates. The fatigue that comes not from meaningful work but from forced attention.

The body knows when you're living at the wrong speed. The mind eventually follows.

I don't know if any of this resonates, I'm still figuring it out. But I'm finding that when I dedicate energy to slowness—real, intentional slowness—everything else gains meaning.