In today's fast-paced world, many of us rush through our days, jumping from one task to the next without fully completing the first. Is that you (too)?
Slowing down is not something that comes naturally to me. When someone suggests that I slow down, my brain goes into some kind of confusion. I usually find myself surprised at the absurdity of it mixed with a feeling of insult at the idea of such a preposterous thing. Despite this confusion, I wonder why I’m feeling that way and why I’m thinking those thoughts. Am I not better like this? Am I not better than others who function at a slower rate? It makes me more effective; I feel more productive. That’s what I felt — or convinced myself to believe. Maybe my obsession with productivity is like an ”Inception” of sorts — I convinced myself to be more productive to feel valuable, only to keep digging deeper into the endless layers of doing. Turns out, the dream within a dream is just… more to-do lists.
At least that's how it was until today.
Slowing down was a conscious struggle. I was cleaning my room, a YouTube talk in the background. I picked up a lens from my shelf to wipe it clean. As I grabbed it, I moved swiftly and purposefully, but without thinking. I wiped it very — or rather, alarmingly — fast. I was putting it back on the shelf when I noticed a sensation arise in myself, an unwanted rush. The rush felt tense, stressed, almost like a form of self-pressure. Why, I wondered? I felt my body moving faster than I wanted it to. I felt pushed, rushed. It was not a great feeling, even though it felt familiar, because I’m so used to doing so.
In my attempt to slow down, I could hear the night sounds: the insects, the flutter of a bat's wings. I found myself appreciating the free flight of birds dancing with the wind. I could hear my breath. I closed my eyes and I noticed my senses shift. I could feel the world "differently."
This reflection made me think of my lighter as I flick it on. I was curious to see how much I could slow it down and still get it to light. Naturally, what feels silly now seemed so fascinating in that instant. It's the one thing I couldn't slow down as much as I wanted to. No matter how slowed down of a hero I attempted to be, I seemed to be battling with a stubborn flame. Verdict: I couldn’t outpace the fire itself. Funny, isn't it? This will be the topic for another time.
This episode inspired me to create this photograph, which embodies the idea of balancing tension with tranquility, an attempt at capturing movement through stillness. I took 11 separate images and blended them together to create this effect. Slowing down allowed me to capture each subtle change in the flame, each moment of light and shadow. It’s as if each part of the image holds a memory of the movement, showing that even in stillness, there’s a story unfolding.
Look at the photograph again. Slow down, take it in. What do you see? What do you feel? Notice how the light seems to dance, caught mid-motion, leaving traces of the moments before it settled. The photograph has a rich, layered feel, where the flame of the lighter illuminates parts of the frame, casting shadows and soft glows. The blurred motion effect suggests a slower, deliberate attempt to capture the progression of light — as if you’re seeing multiple moments in one. This aligns perfectly with the idea of slowing down and appreciating each moment, even within something as brief as the flicker of a lighter. The contrast between light and dark evokes a sense of tension balanced by tranquility, much like I experienced in this process. Slowing down lets you see these hidden details — the small, almost invisible fragments that make each moment unique.
Slowing down has taught me to appreciate what makes up my world in stillness, through contemplation. Feel more, do less.
What about you? I invite you to slow down — for 30 minutes, an hour, a day, or even a week. Think of it as a "call to reflection," and get curious. You might be surprised at what you discover.