In an age of speed, nothing is more exhilarating than going slow. — Pico Iyer
—What lingers after this line?
One-minute reflection
What feeling does this quote bring up for you?
A Paradox That Reveals a Need
Pico Iyer’s line turns modern intuition upside down: if everything is accelerating, then the rarest—and therefore most invigorating—experience may be deceleration. The quote suggests that exhilaration isn’t only produced by more stimulation, but also by the contrast created when we step outside the prevailing tempo. From there, the idea reads less like nostalgia and more like diagnosis. Speed can become a default setting rather than a deliberate choice, so “going slow” feels rebellious and newly alive—not because slowness is inherently thrilling, but because it restores sensation dulled by constant motion.
Speed’s Hidden Cost: Attention Fragmentation
To understand why slowness can feel exhilarating, it helps to notice what speed does to attention. When days are chopped into rapid tasks, messages, and tabs, the mind learns to skim reality rather than inhabit it. Even pleasant experiences can start to feel thin, because they’re consumed in a rush. Consequently, slowing down becomes a way of regaining depth. A quiet walk without a destination or a meal eaten without multitasking can feel surprisingly vivid. The exhilaration comes from recovered texture—sounds, tastes, and thoughts that were always present but previously drowned out by hurry.
Slowness as a Reset for the Nervous System
Beyond attention, Iyer’s observation points toward the body’s stress rhythms. Chronic urgency keeps people hovering in a state of readiness—always reacting, always bracing. In that context, slowness isn’t merely a lifestyle preference; it’s a physiological shift into a different mode of being. As the pace drops, breathing often deepens, perception widens, and the mind has room to complete thoughts instead of abandoning them midstream. What feels exhilarating is the sudden release of pressure—like stepping from a noisy street into a quiet courtyard and realizing how loud the world had become.
Creativity and Insight Thrive on Unhurried Time
Once the system calms, another benefit emerges: unhurried time invites insight. Many breakthroughs arrive not during frantic effort but during pauses—moments when the brain is allowed to wander and connect ideas. This is why writers, scientists, and composers so often describe solutions appearing while walking, bathing, or resting. In that light, “going slow” becomes productive in a deeper sense. It restores the spaciousness required for imagination and meaning-making, turning life from a sequence of outputs into a place where new thoughts can actually form.
Relearning Presence Through Ordinary Rituals
The quote also implies that slowness is accessible, not exotic. It can be practiced through small rituals: reading a few pages with full attention, lingering over conversation, or taking the long route home. These acts don’t add novelty so much as they recover intimacy with the ordinary. As this practice continues, everyday life starts to feel less like a race and more like a lived scene. The exhilaration comes from presence—an experience that modern speed quietly erodes, yet one that returns quickly when we intentionally stop chasing the next thing.
Choosing a Pace Rather Than Being Chosen
Ultimately, Iyer’s line is an argument for agency. Speed often arrives as a command from devices, schedules, and social expectation, whereas slowness is typically a decision. That choice can feel powerful precisely because it reasserts authorship over one’s time. So the exhilaration of going slow is not only sensory or psychological; it is moral in the broad sense of living deliberately. In an age that confuses velocity with value, slowing down becomes a way to remember what matters—and to feel, in that remembering, a quiet but unmistakable thrill.