In an age of speed, nothing could be more invigorating than going slow. — Pico Iyer
—What lingers after this line?
One-minute reflection
Where does this idea show up in your life right now?
A Paradox That Clarifies Modern Fatigue
Pico Iyer’s line lands as a paradox: if everything around us accelerates, why would deceleration feel energizing? Yet the statement captures a contemporary truth—speed can be draining when it becomes the default setting rather than a deliberate choice. The more our days are broken into alerts, errands, and rapid responses, the more “fast” starts to resemble friction rather than freedom. From that starting point, going slow becomes less a romantic escape and more a form of renewal. Iyer suggests that vitality isn’t always produced by adding stimulation; sometimes it comes from removing the constant pressure to keep up, allowing attention and breath to return to their natural rhythm.
Attention as the Real Currency of Time
Moving from the social tempo to the inner experience, the quote implies that speed often steals what it promises to deliver: lived time. When we hurry, we may cover more ground, yet register less of it—meals blur, conversations become transactional, and even accomplishments feel oddly weightless. In that sense, the “invigoration” Iyer names is the feeling of being fully present again. A small anecdote illustrates it: someone might take the same ten-minute walk twice—once while checking messages, once with the phone away. The distance is identical, but the second walk seems longer, richer, and more restorative. By slowing down, attention returns to the senses, and ordinary moments recover their depth.
Slowness as Resistance, Not Retreat
From presence, the idea naturally expands into agency. In a culture that prizes responsiveness, choosing slowness can be a quiet act of resistance—an insistence that not every demand deserves immediate access to your mind. Rather than retreating from life, going slow can be a way of reclaiming how you meet it, on your own terms. This is why “slow” can feel invigorating: it restores control. When you decide to read without skimming, cook without multitasking, or listen without planning your reply, you’re not doing less—you’re doing one thing with integrity. That concentrated engagement often produces a calmer energy than speed ever could.
Depth Over Breadth in Work and Creativity
Having reclaimed agency, slowness also reveals its practical value. Many forms of excellent work—writing, design, caregiving, problem-solving—depend on incubation and sustained focus. Quick output can mimic productivity while quietly eroding quality, because the mind needs unpressured time to notice patterns, test assumptions, and revise. Cal Newport’s Deep Work (2016) argues that concentrated attention is increasingly rare and therefore increasingly valuable, and Iyer’s point complements that claim from a more existential angle. Slowness doesn’t merely reduce stress; it can sharpen perception. In creative life especially, going slow often means giving ideas the time to become coherent rather than merely publishable.
Relationships Grow at Human Speed
From work, the transition to relationships is straightforward: intimacy cannot be optimized like a feed. Friendship, trust, and love require lingering—shared meals, unhurried conversations, long silences that aren’t awkward. Speed may increase contact, but it can decrease connection when interactions become brief check-ins instead of mutual attention. Here, going slow becomes invigorating because it restores warmth. When you sit with someone without a schedule pressing at your back, you offer a kind of generosity that modern life rarely grants. That generosity often comes back as steadiness, which is its own form of energy—less flashy than adrenaline, but far more sustaining.
Making Slowness a Practice, Not a Fantasy
Finally, Iyer’s insight invites translation into habit. Slowness works best when it becomes an intentional practice rather than a once-a-year vacation ideal. That might mean setting “response windows” instead of constant availability, taking one screen-free hour each evening, or building a short daily ritual—tea, a short walk, a few pages of a book—that signals the nervous system it can downshift. Over time, these small choices create a counter-rhythm to the age of speed. The goal isn’t to reject efficiency but to place it in its proper role: a tool, not a master. In that balance, the paradox resolves—going slow becomes invigorating because it returns you to a life that is actually yours to live.