I sometimes wonder if services like Amazon Prime have quietly rewired us. There was a time when patience was normal, when waiting was simply part of life. Now, if something takes more than forty-eight hours, we become restless. We pay for speed, not substance. We chase convenience and call it progress.

But faster doesn’t mean deeper. In our obsession with getting things quickly, we’ve sacrificed significance for speed. We desire instant results in love, work, healing, and success, as if anything that doesn’t come right away might never come at all.

What we often overlook is that life moves at its own pace. It unfolds in micro-magical moments, like the slow sip of my morning coffee, the pause between tasks as I gaze out at the ocean, or the five quiet minutes before a Zoom call begins, watching the trees through my office window. That’s where true magic is found—in the unplanned, everyday moments we rush past.

Speed keeps us from noticing life’s small miracles around us. When we’re constantly refreshing, tracking, or comparing, we miss the softness of what’s already happening. We confuse motion with meaning. Sometimes, the most productive thing we can do is stop trying to produce, let the moment breathe, and give ourselves permission to pause without calling it laziness. I am still unlearning this generational flaw.

Taking time for oneself isn’t indulgence; it’s essential maintenance. A solo walk, a self-care day, a weekend away with my husband—these aren’t escapes from life but gentle reentries into it. They help us refill what constant effort depletes. The world may praise busyness, but true balance rarely shouts; it whispers through rest, reflection, and curiosity. I want more of this.

When we slow down, we meet life at its natural pace — not the algorithm’s. We begin to notice how the light moves across a room, how the air smells before rain, and how a single deep breath can reset an entire day. These are micro-moments of presence, the quiet kind that heal us in ways speed never can.

So, next time you feel the urge to rush or refresh, pause. Allow the silence to settle. Let nothing happen for a mundane moment. You’ll discover that waiting isn’t wasted; it’s when the universe gently rearranges itself for you.

The magic isn’t in what shows up. It’s in the space you build while waiting.

And speaking of allowing myself to slow down, did I mention I just spent six hours at my laptop writing today? So, I’m going to practice what I preach: curling up to watch another Audrey Hepburn movie, next up…Sabrina, that dreamy 1950s film about love, paying attention, and taking one’s sweet time.