Going slow has always been accompanied by an air of wisdom. “Adopt the pace of nature,” advised Ralph Waldo Emerson. “Her secret is patience.” A couple millennia and change before that, Lao Tzu said something similar: “Nature does not hurry, yet everything is accomplished.”
Yet these days, paeans to slowness have taken on a slightly more urgent tone. “We are on a bus speeding faster and faster toward a cliff, and we celebrate every added mile per hour as progress,” wrote the French economist Timothée Parrique in Slow Down or Die, published last May. “It’s madness. Maximizing growth is like stepping on the accelerator with the absolute certainty of dying in a social and ecological collapse.”
The Japanese philosopher and economist Kohei Saito covered similar territory in Slow Down, his 2024 degrowth manifesto. Our obsession with GDPs is contributing not only to our collective sufferingbut to our eventual demise. After all, economic growth might be seen as the societal manifestation of individual craving—we want, therefore we buy.
“We live in a cult of terminal velocity,” wrote the psychotherapist and author Francis Weller in In the Absence of the Ordinary: Soul Work for Times of Uncertainty, a collection of essays. “A type of mania that consumes us with constant motion. Much is lost in this frenzied fidelity to speed.”
In the age of AI, when the average person consumes more information in a day than someone in the 15th century would have in their entire lifetime, one can see why slowness feels essential. People are caught up in the rat race, leading stressful, overly connected lives. Yet it is one thing to slow down at a systemic level, and quite another to slow down as an individual.
In the age of AI, when the average person consumes more information in a day than someone in the 15th century would have in their entire lifetime, one can see why slowness feels essential.
Can mindfulness help us take our foot off the accelerator? And can a personal practice have a meaningful impact on the speed at which society moves?
Doing Mode to Being Mode
“Mindfulness practice is certainly a tangible way of slowing down,” says mindfulness scholar Andrew Olendzki. “If only for a brief session, one deliberately drops out of ‘doing’ mode to linger in ‘being’ mode.”
Lingering in being mode has a tangible impact on our internal speedometer. “Mindfulness practice is a way of re-training oneself to slow down in every way, and the rate of breathing is the most accessible way of doing this,” says Olendzki.
Indeed, research shows that long-term meditators display slower respiratory rates than non-meditators. Being able to slow down physiologically when one is operating at a higher register might bring a degree of deliberateness to “fast-paced” endeavors. It can help us embody the tortoise despite the prevalence of so many hares.
Being able to slow down physiologically when one is operating at a higher register might bring a degree of deliberateness to “fast-paced” endeavors. It can help us embody the tortoise despite the prevalence of so many hares.
When this deliberateness pervades the body, it can extend to the mind, providing a countercurrent to the speed at which modern life moves. It can teach us not just to slow down during common contemplative practices, like meditation or journaling or yoga, but to access a lower gear in the midst of the everyday, which is when we most feel the pressure to maintain forward momentum.
“For most people today, the speed comes from external engagements: busy schedules, phones set to notify every incoming message, and the basic tendency to ‘do a lot’ in the modern lifestyle,” says Olendzki. “I think the pace at which one lives one’s life is a matter of habit, and like all habits is learned. Much in our society encourages moving fast, and I like to think we still have some choice in how much we participate in this.”
Unlearning Our Addiction to Speed
In some respects, then, slowing down involves a type of unlearning. We are so used to moving at the speed of information that we don’t realize that we don’t have to respond to every notification that vibrates in our pockets. The anthropologist Thomas Hylland Eriksen distinguished between “fast time”—writing an email or completing a report, and “slow time”—leisure activities like creating art or sitting still. He noted that when fast time and slow time meet—deadline pressure versus writing poetry—fast time always wins. But when we notice this imbalance we can choose to prioritize slow time.
Mindfulness might support our efforts to slow down insofar as it reorients us toward the rhythm of the breath, the pace of nature, and the workability of the mind.
We may need support in making this choice. Perhaps this is why the past couple of years have seen books about Slow Birding, Slow Productivity, Slow Pleasure, and Slow Seasons—a guide to reconnecting with nature. In an age of abundance those of us in privileged positions are not thirsty for more but for less.
In this sense, Lao Tzu, Emerson, and Weller may be on to something when they advise us to take a cue from natural rhythms. In his book Weller recalled his mentor, Clarke Berry, placing his hand on a rock and indicating that he operates at geologic speed:
Geologic speed—the rhythm of eons, of millennia—is etched deep in our bones. When we grant ourselves the time and pace of stone, we come into a deep memory of who we are, where we belong and what is sacred. We remember the values associated with this ancient cadence, among them patience, restraint, and reciprocity.
Mindfulness might support our efforts to slow down insofar as it reorients us toward the rhythm of the breath, the pace of nature, and the workability of the mind. Whether or not that can address the political and economic issues that plague society is questionable, but individuals that can achieve respite may help shape systems that prioritize it. After all, mindfulness isn’t about getting anywhere, or getting ahead, or even getting it.
“Be as mindful as you can of the pace you inhabit in any given day,” wrote Weller. “Try to notice what happens when you slow down and enter the stream of connection with the daylight, the wind, the sounds of the city, birdsong, cricket, or silence.”
Life may be terminal, but our velocity doesn’t have to be.
