Our obsession with speed, with cramming more and more into every

In the words of Carl Honoré, there lies a lament and a warning: “Our obsession with speed, with cramming more and more into every minute, means that we race through life instead of actually living it…” These words echo like a prophecy from the ancients, spoken to a civilization drunk on haste. They tell of an age where men and women, in their thirst for speed, have forgotten the sweetness of stillness. Once, life moved in rhythm with the seasons; now it trembles to the pulse of the clock. We build machines to save time, yet become their servants. We measure worth not by wisdom, but by how swiftly we move from task to task—never pausing long enough to feel the sacred weight of being alive.

The meaning of Honoré’s words reaches beyond mere lifestyle; it is a reflection on the soul of modern humanity. When one races through life, the heart forgets to listen. The senses, dulled by the constant roar of urgency, lose touch with wonder. Health falters, not only of the body but of the spirit. We devour food without taste, work without joy, and sleep without rest. Our relationships suffer, for love cannot bloom in the soil of hurry. Even the greatest minds falter under the tyranny of haste—mistakes multiply, tempers flare, and our inner peace becomes a distant dream.

Consider the tale of the great Emperor Marcus Aurelius, whose reign was marked by both war and wisdom. Amidst the chaos of empire, he wrote to himself: “The mind that is anxious about the future is miserable.” Though burdened by armies and politics, he sought stillness within. He would rise at dawn not to rush into conquest, but to meditate upon reason and virtue. From him, we learn that greatness does not spring from speed, but from presence—the art of being wholly where one stands. Even in the whirl of duty, Marcus understood the sanctity of pause. He teaches us that to live well is to live deliberately, not to run blindly toward an ever-receding horizon.

Our age, however, has forgotten this truth. We run faster than our ancestors dreamed possible, yet arrive nowhere that truly matters. The child grows up watching their parents rush past them; the worker measures life in deadlines, not days; the dreamer wakes to find their dreams traded for exhaustion. The gods of efficiency and productivity have replaced the old deities of wisdom and beauty. We have become priests of a new religion of speed—our altars are screens, our prayers are notifications, and our sacrifices are time itself.

But even amidst this frenzy, there are those who resist. The Slow Movement, inspired by Honoré himself, arose not as rebellion, but as remembrance. It calls us back to the sacred pace of life—to eat with attention, to work with care, to walk instead of run when the soul demands reflection. It is not laziness that the slow path teaches, but balance—the rhythm between effort and ease, creation and rest. Like the tides that kiss the shore and retreat, life too must flow and pause.

From this quote emerges a great and simple truth: speed is not the same as progress. To live quickly is not to live wisely. The river that rushes too fast erodes its own banks, but the steady stream nourishes the valley for generations. So too with our lives—those who chase every moment lose the gift of the present one. The wise learn to honor time not by filling it, but by feeling it.

And so, dear listener, take this as both counsel and challenge. Slow down. Breathe before you begin. Taste before you swallow. Speak after you listen. Work, but let rest follow like night after day. Sit with a friend and let the silence between words be your communion. Walk beneath the sky and let your eyes linger on the passing clouds. For life is not a race to be won—it is a song to be heard, a story to be savored.

Let the final lesson be this: To live fully, one must move at the pace of the heart, not the clock.