Everyone talks about moving fast. No one talks about what we lose when we do.
That morning, nothing dramatic happened. No big heartbreak. No life-changing call.
Just the usual: a buzzing phone, a half-warm cup of coffee, and a mind already sprinting ahead of my body.
I opened my messages like it was a duty. I checked updates like they were oxygen.
And somewhere in the middle of “just five more minutes,” I felt it — a quiet tiredness.
Not the kind that sleep fixes. The kind that comes from constantly reacting.
I looked around. The room was the same. But I wasn’t.
Outside the window, the day was slow and honest. The light didn’t rush.
The trees didn’t refresh themselves every second to prove they were still alive.
So I did something unusual.
I stopped.
No music. No scrolling. No multitasking.
Just me… and the sound of the fan… and the breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
At first it felt awkward. Like I was “wasting time.”
Then it started to feel like I was getting time back.
Tap to read a thought I had at that moment
I realised I wasn’t tired because I had too much to do. I was tired because I gave everything my attention — except myself.
After that pause, I didn’t become a new person. I didn’t delete apps.
I didn’t transform into a “morning routine guru.”
I simply chose one small rebellion:
I stopped treating slowness like a weakness.
That day, I still worked. I still handled tasks.
But I carried a different feeling through it — like I wasn’t chasing life… I was finally walking with it.
And honestly? That was enough.
Before you close this page,
ask yourself:
Where in your day can you choose a little more slowness?
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