I slow down when hiking. The rhythm of nature is more leisurely.

The entrepreneur and thinker John Mackey, known for his reflections on health, leadership, and balance, once said: “I slow down when hiking. The rhythm of nature is more leisurely. The sun comes up, it moves across the sky, and you begin to synchronize to that rhythm.” These words, though simple, contain a deep truth about the life of man and his separation from the eternal order of creation. For in our cities and machines, we race against clocks, but in the mountains and forests, time itself is different. There, the rhythm of nature reigns—not frantic, not hurried, but vast, patient, and eternal.

To slow down when hiking is to lay aside the tyranny of haste. In the wilderness, speed is not virtue. The trees do not hurry to grow, the rivers do not rush to complete their journey, the sun itself takes its steady course without anxiety. Mackey reminds us that man, when he steps into this world, must learn again how to move in harmony with it. If he does not, he remains restless, a stranger in a land of peace. To hike slowly, then, is not laziness—it is an act of wisdom, a way of aligning oneself with the heartbeat of the earth.

The sun, as Mackey observes, is the great metronome of creation. It rises, moves across the sky, and sets. In its journey, all life takes its cue: flowers open, birds sing, shadows stretch, the cool evening falls. When we synchronize with this rhythm, we discover a forgotten truth: that our bodies, our minds, and our souls were not designed for ceaseless hurry. They were designed to flow with dawn and dusk, with work and rest, with silence and song. This is the law of balance, the law of nature, which civilization has too often cast aside.

History has shown us how vital this harmony is. Consider the Stoic philosophers, such as Marcus Aurelius, who reminded themselves to rise with the sun and to contemplate the stars at night, seeking wisdom in the patterns of the heavens. Or think of Henry David Thoreau, who retreated to Walden Pond, seeking to live deliberately in rhythm with the turning seasons, to strip away the madness of human haste and rediscover the simplicity of life. Both men, though separated by centuries, understood what Mackey declares: to be whole, man must find again the slower rhythm of the natural world.

This teaching carries with it a warning. Those who refuse to slow down, who live always in the rush of deadlines and machines, become weary in body and broken in spirit. Their sleep falters, their creativity wanes, and their joy withers. But those who pause, who walk in forests, who rise with the sun and rest with the stars, discover renewal. For the rhythm of nature is not only leisure—it is healing. It restores what haste destroys, it balances what ambition unravels, it gives peace where anxiety reigns.

The lesson is therefore clear: if you would live wisely, synchronize with the sun. Walk more slowly, breathe more deeply, notice the patterns of earth and sky. Set aside at times the clocks and calendars, and let the dawn and dusk be your guide. Allow yourself to be taught by trees and rivers, who know the secret of patience. For in aligning with nature’s rhythm, you will not lose time—you will gain life.

Practically, this may be as simple as walking without haste, eating in season, or rising to see the sunrise. It may mean turning off the endless noise of machines to listen instead to birdsong or wind. It may mean taking moments in the day not to produce or consume, but simply to be. These are not small things—they are steps back into harmony with the eternal order of creation.

Thus John Mackey’s words, spoken as a hiker, stand as a teaching for all: slow down. Remember that the sun does not hurry, nor the rivers race. When you walk in nature’s rhythm, you rediscover your own. And in that rediscovery lies the key to health, to peace, and to the fullness of life itself.