In a world obsessed with speed, it’s easy to believe that everything can be hacked, optimized, or fast-tracked. And for most of my life, I believed that too. I lived fast. Worked fast. Thought fast. And I prided myself on it. Nay, I boasted about it. Efficiency was my rhythm. Results were my reward.
But I’ve come to realize, some things in life simply cannot be rushed.
What I have found in particular:
Health can’t be hacked.
Relationships can’t be downloaded.
These things take time.
Not time in theory but real time.
So now I ask myself:
What can I do today to nurture the things I want to last?
For my health, it means making space each day to care for my body.
To eat in a way that nourishes.
To move in ways that strengthen, because the body is built to move.
To hydrate generously, to sleep deeply, to breathe mindfully.
Mindful breathing, several times a day, has become my favorite new practice.
We can’t cram our way into wellness.
We build it slowly, with intentional choices and deep self-respect.
Cancer was my wake-up call.
Before cancer, I barely gave my health a thought. I took it for granted.
Now, doing something for my health—every single day—is a quiet act of self-love.
Isn’t it curious how we often don’t recognize the value of what we have until we’re at risk of losing it?
And for relationships, especially with our grandchildren, Amaal in Portugal, Mos and Robi in Nairobi, it means showing up, even from afar.
Distance is real. Time zones are tricky. But love, love travels.
They’re growing up so quickly, and let’s be honest – – in a few years, they might not want much to do with us at all!
So we find ways to connect now: voice notes, video messages, storytime recordings, silly songs, surprise packages.
Little things, done with heart.
Because deep relationships, whether with family, friends, or colleagues, aren’t built in a weekend visit or a grand gesture.
They’re built slowly, intentionally, one connection at a time.
Consistency, not intensity, is what shapes our health and our relationships.
I’ve found this to be true in unexpected places too, like cooking!
For most of my life, cooking felt like a chore, an inconvenient transaction.
My mom did most of the cooking at home.
After she passed away, I took it on as a way to feel close to her.
At first, I tried to fast-track it.
“I’ll learn to cook in a month,” I told myself. Classic me.
But the food tasted terrible.
And I hated every moment of trying.
I had to change my mindset.
I had to slow down. Let it simmer. Let it take time.
And in doing so, I discovered something surprising:
Cooking became a joy. A connection to my mom. A practice of love.
Some things just take time, and that’s exactly what makes them beautiful.
So much of life isn’t built in big leaps or dramatic turning points,
but in the quiet, faithful steps we take day by day.
In the rhythms we return to.
In the small choices we make consistently, even when no one is watching.
What’s one area of your life that matters enough to slow down for?
What might shift if you gave it your time, your presence, your intention?
