#35: In Praise Of The Slow Walkers Of New York
In an age of acceleration, nothing can be more exhilarating than going slow
“Morning, Pedro” I mutter, while bolting past the doorman of my building. Within 2 minutes I’m entering the subway station. It’s Monday. Phone in my palm, quick look down for the face ID, payment done. I walk on, my legs push the turnstile as they have a thousand times before and hurtle towards the downtown train. I can hear it, the train is already on the platform. Without any hesitation or pause, I run down the stairs and dash into the train as the doors close behind me. For a second, I feel a rush. A thrilling rush. Like I’m a movie character trying to escape and I’ve made it.
It’s the same feeling I used to get back in high school. I lived in Mumbai at the time and would take the public bus to school. Many a time I have run behind the bus on the main road and caught it, occasionally even jumping onto a moving bus (I do not recommend this). At the time, it was a tad thrilling. At the time, it also felt necessary. In hindsight, I don't think it was. Just like my Manhattan subway habit of rushing for the train, I am realizing, is not necessary. And I’m gradually letting go of it.
I am a twenty eight year old living in NYC, arguably the fastest city in the world — and I am consciously slowing down my days.
What am I rushing for? If this train goes, there's another one just a few minutes behind. The core reason for my lateness is the thought that I can do more stuff within the time — a response to this persistent fear that time is finite, that I must squeeze in more. More emails answered, more dinners with friends, more content consumed, more things crossed off my to-do list.
But how does this quest for more actually manifest? In mindless doom scrolling on social media. In late night plans, even though I know I have to leave early the next morning. Yes, life does get in the way occasionally, but most times it's a choice I make. And I'm beginning to realize that this constant squeezing isn't necessary. While time is finite and we must make the most of life, the answer to this conundrum isn't filling every moment with action or pleasure.
When you fill up a vessel to the brim and carry it, the liquid spills.
The answer lies in the space between doing and experiencing — in slowing down and experiencing life as it unfolds, not as an endless list to get through. Because these lists never end, do they?
We cram activities into our days, weeks, and months believing in a mythical endpoint — that magical 'there' where we'll finally feel satisfied, fulfilled, happy, accomplished. Where we'll feel we've done enough with our time, used it well. But we never quite reach that feeling. The point isn't to give up on your tasks or goals or to leave your days empty. The point is simply not to rush.
You Need Bits of Wonder
A few Sundays ago, I met up with my friend GG outside his apartment building in midtown. We were going to eat lunch at a nearby restaurant and then hang out at his place. We started to head to the restaurant. And he was walking fast. If there was a background score for his walk, it would probably be the song “Man on a Mission”.
I, walking slowly, protested his brisk pace. Nobody’s waiting for us, and we have no other plans for the day. He seemed to agree and slowed down a bit. A few minutes later it was as if his legs had a mind of their own and started to move faster.
Later that afternoon, a few of our other friends came by and joined us. During conversation, I started to tell them about this Halloween decoration we had seen a few blocks down. It was on a gorgeous brownstone, with carved pumpkins along the steps, electric candles that flickered behind stretched out cobwebs, and two life-sized skeletal hands emerging from brass window boxes. It was probably the best one I had seen this year.
GG interrupted me: "Where did you see this?"
"You know, when we were walking to the restaurant.”
He hadn’t noticed.
We’d both had different walks despite being on the same route.
Slowing down isn’t about doing less.
'How was your Sunday?' my sister asked me on the phone. I walked her through my day: Started at 8:30, taking my time with my morning routine. Made it to my weekly writing club by 10, was there until about 12:45. Then headed to a friend's place for our Bhagavad Gita reading group. Along the way, I grabbed a snack. The afternoon unfolded naturally — some grocery shopping, a call with a friend, a workout session. Evening brought some work editing an essay, dinner, some reading, then sleep.
'That sounds incredibly packed for a Sunday,' she remarked, concern in her voice. 'And you have work tomorrow, when do you actually rest?' But I did everything at a gentle pace - I wasn’t rushing anywhere. I wasn't scrolling my phone in between. I had over an hour to get ready in the morning. During my commute, I wasn't buried in emails or texts. At writing club and in the Gita discussion, I was fully present. Even the simple moments were unhurried. Sauntering to the subway, I took time to feel the gentle warmth of the balmy fall day, to notice the rhythm of the city. When catching up with my friend, I wasn't multitasking with chores or watching the clock — just thirty minutes of genuine conversation. My workout wasn't cluttered with podcasts or videos competing for attention. I took my time between sets, letting myself enjoy the music they had playing.
What my sister saw as 'packed' was actually full of breathing spaces: those in-between moments. Every commute and transition were moments of stillness. These weren't empty spaces to be filled, but moments to simply be. My Sunday felt spacious, not squeezed. At the end of the day, I felt both accomplished and at peace.
In a world that equates speed with success, slowing down is an act of rebellion. Pico Iyer reminds us, "In an age of acceleration, nothing can be more exhilarating than going slow. In an age of distraction, nothing is so luxurious as paying attention." In that slowness, that attentiveness, we may just find a renewed sense of presence and peace– a way of being that allows us to experience the richness and complexity of life in all its fullness.
p.s. - If you’re curious to read more on how to make the mental shifts needed to slow down in life, would recommend reading
’s beautiful piece on slowness, taste and living well.
This is so well articulated, Manan!! Loved the read.
Really enjoyed this piece. I often feel I’m rushing about from place to place without that leisurely meander that helps so much with thinking and rest. Slow productivity.
Loved it