In a world that seems to whirl a little faster every year, many of us hardly notice how quickly we’re moving. We rush from one responsibility to the next, hustling through our days as if speed itself were a badge of honor. We’ve been conditioned - by culture, by industry, by generations of inherited expectation - to believe that faster is better, busy is admirable, and stillness is indulgent.
But what if the truth is the exact opposite?
The Cost of a Fast-Paced Life
Historically, humans moved with the rhythm of the natural world: seasons, harvests, the rising and setting of the sun. Time wasn’t measured by productivity but by presence. But with industrialization came a new belief system: time equals money, speed equals progress, and rest weakens the machine.
What was once reserved for emergencies - moving quickly, pushing through, staying “on” - became the requirement of everyday life.
There was a time when rushing was rare. Our ancestors moved fast only when something truly threatened their survival, like when a storm rolled in unexpectedly, when a predator approached, or when a child needed immediate saving. Speed was a temporary, instinctive response to real danger.
Today, we call on that same emergency rhythm because a meeting ran late, or a notification pinged at the wrong time.
Our bodies can’t tell the difference. They only know we’re always hurrying, always bracing, always “on.”
You may not even realize how deeply speed has become the default setting until you pause long enough to feel the contrast.
It’s no wonder our spirits, quietly, begin to fray at the edges.
Even Our Healing Spaces Have Become Fast
One clear example of this comes from the modern yoga world - specifically, today’s extremely fast-paced vinyasa classes.
What was once a practice of breath-led movement has, in many places, become another arena for rushing, hustling, sweating, and proving. Often students step out of a fast-paced day into an even faster-paced yoga class.
The teacher cues the class with calm, grounded instructions:
“Step onto your mat. Step out of your day. Come into your breath.”But the moment the practice begins, the pace accelerates. The breath the teacher calls out is always one inhale or exhale ahead of the students. Instead of the breath leading the body, the body outruns the breath.
And when the breath is rushed, the entire practice becomes a place of speed, strain, and subtle self-judgment.
Another space where we “perform.”
Another place where we’re inadvertently asked to keep up.
For many people, this does the exact opposite of what they most deeply need: to slow down, to feel, to integrate, to rest.
Yoga and Ritual as Places to Return
This is why intentional slowness matters so much, especially in the spaces meant to heal us.
When we consciously step into yoga, meditation, ritual, or our own sacred stillness, we step into a space gently shielded from the pressure to rush. These are the places where our breath finally gets to arrive before the movement. Where stillness is encouraged. Where softness is strength.
These spaces remind us that slowness isn’t laziness — it’s medicine.
Progress Isn’t the Goal, Presence Is
We live in a culture obsessed with growth, improvement, and achievement. But true progress isn’t about becoming more efficient - it’s about becoming more aware, more connected, more human.
When you slow down:
- Your nervous system recalibrates.
- Your intuition gets clearer.
- Your body speaks more honestly.
- Your relationships deepen.
- Your spiritual life expands.
That’s the kind of progress that nourishes instead of depleting.
A Gentle Invitation
As you move through the rest of this month, especially around the busy holiday next week, I invite you to practice slowing down - on purpose. Not dramatically. Not perfectly. Just intentionally.
Try one of these:
- Eat one meal a day without multitasking.
- Leave 5 quiet minutes between one activity and the next.
- Notice what your body feels like when you’re moving too fast.
- Choose one thing each day to do 20% slower.
Let these tiny pauses be gentle acts of self-return.
You deserve a rhythm that honors your humanity.
You deserve a life you can actually feel.
You deserve to slow down.