It’s Not Lazy to Slow Down

I haven’t been moving slowly this summer. My cooking classes are in full swing, schedules are packed, and my days blur together in beautiful chaos.

But I’ve been thinking about something — about the guilt that creeps in when we’re not “productive.” About the parents stealing moments of quiet between carpools and snacks, wondering if they’re doing enough.

Here’s what I want you to know: It’s not lazy to slow down.

Actually, let me be honest. I think I wrote this for myself.

Let the Heat Be the Invitation

Summer is hot. Your body knows this. There’s something ancient about honoring that rhythm, even if it’s just five minutes of stillness between the endless demands of keeping small humans alive and entertained.

I know not every parent loves this season. I hear it constantly: “I just want them out of my hair.” “I can’t wait for school to start.” That’s completely valid. Summer childcare and camps exists for a reason, and some days are simply about surviving until bedtime with sanity intact.

But maybe — in between all the scheduling and juggling — there are tiny pockets where you can soften into the heat. Where slowing doesn’t mean lazy. It means intentional.

What Fishing Taught Me

Let me tell you about fishing with my dad.

Sometimes we’d go early, before the heat settled in. Other times, late in the day when the sun dropped low and the air felt thick and golden. We’d pack a cooler with tomato sandwiches — sometimes tomato and cheese, sometimes fried bologna — then drive to the pond with windows down and Johnny Cash on the radio.

We had our spots. One side for morning light, another for evening. By the time we arrived, the grass would be warm and dry, scratchy in that way summer grass always is. I’d settle in next to my dad, and we’d just… sit.

The sounds: crickets tucked into tall grass, frogs calling across the pond like they had urgent news, birds moving through trees just out of sight. Underneath it all, the steady hum of summer itself.

It didn’t smell like the city summers I know now. It smelled like grass warmed all day, like hay and dust and something green and familiar — a scent that only exists in open fields under open sky.

He showed me how to thread a worm on the hook carefully, so it would stay but still wiggle. We’d cast out and watch the red and white bobber float on the still surface, waiting for the smallest movement that meant something alive stirred beneath.

“You have to be quiet,” he’d whisper. “Really quiet. Fish can sense everything.”

So we were. Quiet, still, completely there.

Sometimes we talked about school or nothing particular. Sometimes we didn’t talk at all. I never once wanted to leave.

He taught me that if I couldn’t clean the fish, I had to throw it back. Honestly, I almost always threw them back anyway. Because the point was never the fish.

It wasn’t about filling time. It was about letting time stretch. Letting a day mean more just by being lived in, not filled up.

It was mindfulness without trying to be mindful. Connection without forcing it. Pure presence disguised as doing nothing.

Holding Space for Slowness

This summer, I’m holding space for slowness — yours and mine. In the cracks between commitments and schedules. In the moments when heat makes everything feel heavy and still.

Your worth isn’t measured by your output. Your summer doesn’t need optimization.

Sometimes the most radical thing you can do is simply be — sticky, sweaty, and beautifully still.

This may seem like a small, insignificant moment for you. But it may be a memory for another soul.

https://medium.com/@melanie_99958/its-not-lazy-to-slow-down-52430cf1b819