I like to take my own time, and I don't like to rush. I do take

Nargis Fakhri, with a voice both calm and resolute, once spoke these words of timeless wisdom: “I like to take my own time, and I don’t like to rush. I do take time, and I have patience.” Though uttered in the world of cinema and art, her declaration transcends the stage and the screen, reaching into the heart of life itself. For in these words lies an ancient lesson: that haste scatters the spirit, while patience gathers strength; that to take one’s own time is to walk in harmony with the rhythm of destiny.

The ancients always warned against the folly of rush. The Greeks told of Icarus, who in his impatience soared too close to the sun, his wings melting as he plummeted into the sea. The lesson was clear: ambition untempered by patience leads to ruin. In contrast, those who move with deliberation, who allow time to ripen their endeavors, achieve lasting greatness. Fakhri’s words echo this eternal truth, reminding us that wisdom grows not in haste, but in stillness, in waiting, in letting things unfold at their appointed hour.

To take one’s own time is not laziness, but strength. It is the refusal to be ruled by the frantic pace of the world, the courage to say: “I will not be hurried into error, nor forced into paths not meant for me.” This is the stance of the warrior who waits for the right moment to strike, of the farmer who waits for the harvest, of the artist who lingers over the brushstroke until beauty emerges. By claiming her own time, Fakhri aligns herself with the eternal flow, where all things arrive in their season.

History, too, offers us examples. Consider the patience of Mahatma Gandhi, who faced a mighty empire not with violence or haste, but with endurance and deliberate action. For years he bore imprisonment, humiliation, and hardship, never rushing to force destiny’s hand. In the end, his patience became his greatest weapon, moving mountains that armies could not. His story reveals the power of what Fakhri speaks: that to hold one’s course with quiet strength is sometimes more heroic than to charge forward recklessly.

In her simple words, there is also a gentle defiance. For the world today worships speed—fast success, fast wealth, fast recognition. Yet what is gained in rush is often fragile, breaking as quickly as it is built. Fakhri teaches us that to walk slowly, to honor time, and to cultivate patience is to build foundations that endure. The tree that grows slowly sends roots deep into the earth; the one that grows too quickly may topple at the first storm.

The lesson, O seekers, is clear. Do not measure your life by the haste of others. Take your own time, and let your path unfold without fear of delay. Embrace patience, not as a passive state, but as an active power that strengthens your soul. Resist the lure of the world’s frantic pace, for true greatness is not in being swift, but in being steady.

Therefore, remember Fakhri’s words when the world demands you hurry. Stand firm, walk at your own rhythm, and trust the unfolding of your journey. For with time and patience, all things—dreams, victories, joys—fall into their rightful place, and you will find yourself not only at the destination, but whole, unbroken, and prepared to truly receive it.