What I Learned When I Finally Slowed Down
An Ode to An Unrushed and Thoroughly Lived Life
I don’t have to tell you the world moves fast.
Minutes, days, weeks rush by in a swirl of color and incoherence. Years turn into decades. Decades turn into a life.
Sometimes I look at the clock and realize hours have passed while I’ve done absolutely nothing—just scrolling, watching TV, letting the minutes slip by.
And that’s pretty standard. You can’t be deeply present for every moment of every day. That kind of awareness takes a superhuman level of attention, and most of us aren’t built for that.
Still, if you’d asked me two years ago whether I was making the most of my time, I would’ve said yes without hesitation. My schedule was full, my weekends packed, my social life active.
Back then, I thought making the most of my time meant squeezing the marrow out of every minute—filling every hour of every day with plans.
Now, I know better.
I know that busyness makes time go by faster.
And going slow is the only way to make it expand.
How to Expand Time
On the weekends, I often moonlight as a sous chef in my best friend’s catering business.
If you’ve never worked in food service before, I should tell you— time moves strangely in restaurants. When the dining room is full, a whole dinner service will pass in the blink of an eye. When it’s dead, your shift feels like it’ll never end.
And while catering isn’t exactly the same as working a weekend shift in a busy restaurant, food prep seems to follow the same rules.
The last time I worked as sous chef, my best friend and I noticed that our work always seemed to take exactly as much time as we gave it. If we gave ourselves two hours to finish our prep list, the work took two hours. But if, for some reason, we were running behind and only had 45 minutes, we finished in 45.
For a long time, I thought we were the ones changing— that maybe we were cutting vegetables slower than usual or finding our flow faster.
But, as it turns out, it wasn’t us changing— it was time.
Time was expanding or contracting based on the energy we brought to the kitchen.
If we were rushing, it passed by in a blink. We lost track of time and got caught up in the urgency of it.
If we were moving slow, time expanded with us. We felt each moment as it passed and made them all count.
At this point, you’re probably wondering:
Why would you do something for two hours if you can do it in 45 minutes?
I get it. I was like you once.
Emma of two years ago would’ve said doing it quicker makes more sense. It’s more efficient and a better use of your time to do things fast.
Time is valuable, precious, and finite. We don’t get wasted time back. It’s gone for good.
But what I realized that day in the kitchen is that time isn’t just something we move through — it’s something that moves with us.
We’re used to thinking about time in a linear way, like it’s a road we’re traveling down with distinct landmarks and designations. But time is more like a river and we’re caught in the current. The way it moves changes dramatically based on how we decide to move.
If we fight the current, trying to speed up or slow down the flow, we struggle to make any progress. But if we let the river carry us, moving with the flow of time, we can speed it up or slow it down to match our needs.
And that’s not all.
Once you realize that the flow of time depends on you, you can change more than its speed — you can change how it feels, and what it creates.
What Happens When Time Expands
Whenever my best friend and I rush to finish our prep list in 45 minutes, the events never quite hit the mark. We forget to do things or miss opportunities to improve the aesthetics. Sometimes, we don’t even realize we forgot something essential until the next day, after we have a chance to eat, relax, and reflect.
But, when we take our time, moving slowly and intentionally, the events are almost invariably a success. The details are perfect, the end results stunning.
More to the point, both of us are present for each and every moment of the experience. We don’t miss details because we are flowing with time, allowing it to carry us from moment to moment.
It’s the difference between fighting the current of a raging river, desperate to reach the other side, and floating downstream with no waterfall in sight — unhurried, present, and trusting you’ll get where you’re meant to go.
Without urgency, we can focus all of our attention on what needs to get done with ease, efficiency, and presence.
So, how do you expand time?
You slow down.
You breathe.
You stop rushing to the next thing and begin to pay attention to this one.
Because when you’re fully present in a moment, it expands to meet you.
Slowing Down Time
Two years ago, I decided to see what happened when I slowed down.
The funny thing is that I didn’t really believe that slowing down would work as well as it did. I mean, I already told you that Emma of two years ago liked to be busy. She thought unfilled hours were dangerous (and they were dangerous because they forced her to confront her dissatisfaction with the filled time).
At the time, I was obsessed with a human design coach named Analena Fuchs. Slowing down was her thing— she had a podcast called The Art of Slowing Down, and I was into it.
Based on her teachings, it became clear to me that my need to be busy was causing me a lot of suffering. Not only was it distracting me from the areas of my life that weren’t working, it was keeping me from finding my purpose.
Slowing down seemed to be the answer to everything — to making more money, being more present, feeling at home in my body, making fewer mistakes, finding my purpose, letting go of what no longer served me.
But deciding to slow down was not the same as doing it.
When it came time to put this idea into action, I found that slowing down felt impossible.
The problem was that I was so used to seeing time as a road — rigid, mapped, unforgiving. I felt like if I slowed down too much, life would pass me by and I’d miss out on crucial experiences and opportunities.
And that fear wasn’t unique to me. We all feel it — the pull of urgency, the belief that slowing down means falling behind. FOMO is real, and it runs deep.
What makes it harder is that when you decide to slow down, not everyone will slow with you. The people who are content to rush, to stay busy, to give in to urgency will keep moving at the same pace. And in the beginning, it’ll look like they’re the ones making progress — like you’re standing still while everyone else moves forward.
That’s the hardest part — the quiet pause before everything shifts. It feels like nothing’s happening. Like you’ve stepped out of time while the rest of the world keeps spinning.
That’s how you know it’s working.
Because when you stop trying to keep up, when you finally let go of urgency, something incredible happens: time softens. Space opens. You begin to feel a freedom you didn’t even know you were missing.
When I chose to go slow, it felt like I’d stepped out of the flow of time for a while. Like I was in a void where nothing was happening and even time was standing still.
My mistake was thinking that the void was empty.
It wasn’t.
It was full of stillness, space, and possibility—and just waiting for me to stop rushing long enough to notice.
And the longer I stayed in the void, the more I saw what slowing down was really trying to teach me.
What I Learned When I Finally Slowed Down
What I found in the void changed everything.
In the void, it can feel like you’re standing still, or worse, moving backward. But what’s really happening is you’re creating space for what matters.
You start to see what’s supportive and what’s not. You begin to move with time instead of fighting against it. You find your purpose in the stillness that’s left behind.
That’s what really causes time to expand — not slowing down itself, but the awareness that comes from it. Feeling what’s already present. Seeing what’s aligned and what’s not. Tuning into what you love, and what you don’t. Releasing what no longer serves you, and letting in what changes your life.
Once I stopped being so busy, life started meeting me where I was. Here are three lessons I learned along the way.
Life isn’t as serious as it seems.
When I was caught in the flow of time, everything felt serious — and urgent.
If I didn’t decide quickly, I’d miss the opportunity. If I wasn’t ready for love, that person would move on. If I didn’t make the most of my time now, I’d lose it forever.
But slowing down taught me that life isn’t all that serious.
A miraculous thing happens when you’re present. Life becomes delightfully, playfully, unbelievably easy. You start to trust that when each moment arrives, you’ll know the right thing to do. You stop worrying about what might have been, what could be, and you focus on what is.
In the present moment, there is no urgency. There is no need to be anywhere but where you are. And there is such profound, deep freedom in that.
Think about something in your life that feels urgent. Maybe you’re ready to move to a new apartment, end a relationship, find a job, or choose a college.
Now, imagine the worst thing that could happen if you slow down before you decide.
Worst case scenario:
You miss out on a good apartment.
You stay with someone you don’t love anymore for another month.
You don’t get that job because they already hired someone else.
You miss your application deadline.
It feels urgent. Time is speeding by and you can’t stop it from zooming past.
But when you go slow you realize that urgency is an illusion.
When you really take your time to choose where you want to live, you realize you can’t miss out on the right apartment. And you don’t feel pressure to take one that’s almost good enough.
When you take your time to break up with someone, you can really come to terms with how you feel about them and choose the right moment to have the conversation about moving on.
When you take your time during your job search, you realize that the right opportunity for you can’t pass you by. Somewhere out there someone is looking for you, and when you find each other, there will be no question of them choosing someone else.
When you wait to choose a college, maybe you realize that what you really need is a gap year. A year away from academia to decide what matters to you. Or you choose a school whose deadline hasn't passed and enjoy every minute of it.
You don’t miss out on an experience that’s meant for you by waiting until you’re ready.
In fact, that’s how you make sure you’re ready when it arrives.
The right things will wait for you to be ready.
I used to think timing was everything. That if I wanted things to work out a certain way, I had to be ready for them the moment they appeared.
But the truth is, the right things have their own timing, and that timing depends on how ready you are.
So
If you don’t feel ready, you’re not missing anything.
And if you do, the thing you’re ready for will come at the exact right time.
The funny thing about urgency is that it actually clouds your ability to see what’s right for you. In urgency, it’s almost impossible to discern whether something truly feels aligned or not.
It feels like you need to seize it because it’s there, but just because it’s there doesn’t mean you have to seize it.
When I first started catering with my best friend, every deadline felt urgent. I prioritized getting the food out on time over everything else.
But if you’re baking a pie and it’s taking longer than you expected, you don’t pull it out before it's done. Soggy crust does not make a good impression.
You have to wait for the pie to fully cook, even if it takes longer. A crispy crust is always going to win the day.
And like a pie, life doesn’t respond to your urgency. Your need for things to happen faster won’t make them come any sooner. You can’t make the pie cook faster and you can’t rush things that will come in their own time.
Slowing down taught me I don’t need to rush. The right things won’t pass me by — especially when I’m watching for them. When I’m ready, they’ll come and I can trust myself to see them when they do.
Going slow speeds up your purpose.
If you don’t know what you want to do with your life, slow down.
Two years ago, I happily filled every hour of every day with activity. I spent my days working, socializing, exercising, learning, talking, hiking, etc. There was rarely a day I didn’t have something to do.
The problem wasn’t necessarily that I was busy, it was that I wasn’t leaving time to process everything that was happening to me. I moved from one thing to the next so fast, I hardly had time to breathe let alone feel.
But beneath the surface of all my busyness, the unprocessed shit was building up. Resentment, fear, anger, a lack of satisfaction, purpose, and meaning. I felt like I was caught up in the current of my life with no say about the direction.
When I slowed down, I realized how much stuff was lying below the surface. I saw clearly all the unprocessed emotions and experiences — not only as they lived in my memory, but as they showed up in my body.
I began to sift through the emotional, mental, and spiritual debris of years passed. In my slowing down, I had time to feel into every wound, process every scar. I began to understand why I reacted a certain way, why I felt so hurt, why I was more comfortable being busy.
And in the peace after processing, I finally had time to feel into my purpose. To examine my lessons and my healing and ask— where do I want to go from here?
To a certain extent, your younger years are meant to be fast. You’re meant to try all the things and meet all the people. You gather up experiences like you gather scars on your body.
But at a certain age, you look at those scars and wonder:
Did I learn anything from the pain that caused them? Or am I just adding to this permanent tapestry with no sense of where I’m meant to go from here?
I thought my purpose revealed itself in movement, in busyness, in action. But really, it only becomes clear in stillness.
After I processed my scars, let the past go, and leaned into the present moment, I began to hear a clear calling from my heart.
Its voice had been clouded by the past, but in the absence of action, its guidance became clear:
I was meant to write, to help others, to ground, to speak.
With all of the distractions gone, I could see clearly what made me feel heavy and what lit me up. I stopped repeating patterns and started making new choices. I began to see that the things that came into my life weren’t random, but were there for a reason.
My purpose had been buried beneath the debris of the past, but once I cleared it, it became unmistakably clear what I was meant to do.
That’s the paradox of it all — slowing down doesn’t delay your purpose. It speeds it up.
Because when you stop scattering your energy, you stop chasing what isn’t meant for you. You start channeling everything you are toward what actually matters.
And that kind of focus — calm, grounded, and intentional — moves faster than any amount of rushing ever could.
Let Your Body Lead You
More than anything, slowing down taught me how to reconnect with the wisdom of my body. In the rush and urgency of my past life, my body was only consulted after the fact, and sometimes not even then.
I really only listened to it when it put up a stink:
A stomach ache in response to a harmful situation with a coworker
Constant anxiety around a person I thought I was going to marry
Shoulder pain when I tried to carry more than my share of the world’s heavy emotional weight
It took slowing down to realize that I’d totally lost touch with my body.
Slowing down didn’t just help me find my purpose or play with life again— it showed me how many messages I was missing from my built in internal guides. The whispers of my intuition, the call of my heart, the rhythm of my breath. These were my true teachers in the movement of time.
They showed me how to slow it down, how to make it expand, how to make the most of every moment I’m given.
If you’re ready to slow down, be prepared to let your body lead you.
Your body knows when to speed up, when to rest, when to move, when to wait.
All we have to do is listen.
When your body leads, life slows to its natural rhythm.
You take deeper breaths, and begin to move in sync with life.
You stop fighting time.
You start feeling it.
Life stops rushing past you—
And it starts moving with you.
An Ode to an Unrushed and Thoroughly Lived Life
Time still moves fast.
Minutes still turn into hours, days into years. The world hasn’t slowed down—
But I have.
None of my decisions feel urgent anymore. Not all of my days are filled. Nothing is rushed.
And yet, in a lot of ways, my life has sped up.
It’s funny how that happens. The more I slow down, the more life seems to open up to me. People, opportunities, ideas — they arrive at the exact right time, not because I’m chasing them, but because I finally created enough space to receive them.
I’ve let go of so many things that used to weigh me down — the relationships that drained me, the patterns I kept repeating, the endless striving to be someone or somewhere else. In their place, I’ve discovered the things that make my heart sing like writing, decluttering, and energetics.
I don’t always know where time will take me, but I also don’t need to. I trust that wherever I end up will be exactly where I’m meant to go.
That’s the quiet miracle of an unrushed life — it doesn’t need a to-do list or a map or a manifestation board.
All it needs is for you to be present.
When you stop running, you start noticing. The way sunlight moves through the branches. The way your shoulders fall away from your ears when you finally exhale. The way your intuition whispers before your mind catches up.
You have to be brave to live like this. To resist the pull of urgency. To let other people pass you by on their road while you follow a rhythm that only you can hear.
But if you’re brave enough to do it — to live your life slowly, curiously, thoroughly — you begin to see how rich every ordinary moment really is. You turn small things into sacred rituals: the way you make your coffee, water your plants, read before bed. You start to feel that maybe this is what it means to live well — not to have done everything, but to have felt everything.
What I learned from slowing down is that time was never something I could master or manage.
It was something I needed to learn to flow with. To lean into. To approach with reverence and ease.
And maybe that’s the invitation waiting for you too — to stop chasing time and start letting it move through you.
To breathe a little deeper.
To listen a little closer.
To trust that you don’t have to rush to meet your life.
Because it’s already meeting you, moment by moment, in this unrushed and thoroughly lived life.
This Week’s Journaling Prompt:
Where in your life do you feel most rushed right now? What are you afraid would happen if you slowed down?
And don’t forget to share this with someone who moves fast.
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