Slow living — what does it really mean?

It’s easy to idealise slow life, but is it worth pursuing?

I got a letter from my friend Janina. (How refreshing it is—to get a letter from a friend.) I met her in Substack last autumn, and it was instantly clear we share the same passions: freedom, forests, and questioning the norms. She’s a Finnish translator, writer, and author of three children’s books.

If you happen to belong to the Secret Club of Fluent Finnish, I recommend reading Janina’s writings. Her word magic—brilliant. Her humour—brilliant. She is—brilliant. You can read & subscribe to her newsletter here.

So, here we go!

Vanhalinna, 3 April 2025

Hi Elina!

I spent recently a day with a stomach bug, most likely because I ate some salsa that had been sitting in the fridge since the beginning of the year (I still think it was an opportunity), and as I lay there on the couch all day, occasionally cracking my eyes open, our favourite topic came to mind − slow living and whether it makes sense to pursue it.

My stomach bug happened to hit on a good day; I had only planned a few tiny job-related tasks, which I could manage from the couch, and my child spent the whole day at a friend’s place, with no need for me to drive him to any hobbies. In a way, it was actually quite enjoyable to sink into the couch, listen to environmental science lecture recordings, doze off, dream, wake up again, and repeat the cycle over and over.

Even though I wasn’t unbearably sick, I couldn’t have handled another slow day like that. I was burning to do something. Anything. Walk, write, dig out my binoculars, and take notes, even work. Slow living − what kind of goal is that?

I found it incredibly interesting when you wrote in your post in early January about your mixed feelings toward the now very trendy ethos of pursuing a slow and easy-going life. I feel conflicted about it too! Or rather, after reading your thoughts, I realize that I do. What is life like in practice when you actually achieve this goal − this goal of slow living?

I’ve spoken and written in favour of slow living for so long, for years. For me, it means being able to lounge on the couch in the middle of the brightest day and watch birds through the window, if I want to. It means being able to read books as much as I like and to write. It means doing things I want to do without every action needing to serve some productivity-driven goal. Without reading, writing, or even bird-watching being a means to achieve something else. But rather, just being the thing itself.

But to be honest, looking back, my pursuit of slow living − and my success in achieving it − has been a strong reaction against the highly performance-driven and fast-paced life I lived as a young person and young adult. Against the performance-driven and fast-paced person I was.

I have never chased money. After the initial uncertainties of self-employment, what motivated me was precisely the realization that I could make a decent living even with a relatively low workload. I now see that this too was a kind of reaction. Because I became an entrepreneur out of necessity, due to the realities of my field, I simultaneously turned my back on many of the "traditional" realities of working life.

I have always struggled to tolerate pointless waste of time. I remember how unbearable it was in high school to sit through classes where I felt I was getting nothing out of them, knowing I could have used my time better by studying the material at home. That even the teacher seemed like they’d rather be somewhere else, doing something else entirely. I made the same observation years later when I worked as an intern and then as a temp in an office. How much precious, unique human life is wasted every day, every week, every single year, as people sit at their jobs pretending to be productive. Even though research shows that we can only truly work efficiently for about 4+ hours a day.

And although one of the cornerstones of my overall well-being early on in my entrepreneurial journey was to work fewer hours (I still work somewhere between 10 and 20 hours a week), my calendar was always full. I was the quintessential example of a person suffering from the someday syndrome − always waiting for the next weekend, the next summer, the next dog competition, the next festival, the next trip, that moment when I would be more skilled, better, in better shape, my skin in better condition… and my life complete and perfect.

But that’s not how life goes. Actually, life doesn’t go at all − it just is, as you wrote so brilliantly in your article in January. Through various identity-shaking crises − such as my divorce − I entered a banal yet regenerative period that ultimately led me to let go of everything, strip everything away, and stare at the wall. At 34, for the first time since my teenage years, I was in a place where I truly had the time and space to ask myself whether all the structures (and façades) I had built around me were really what I genuinely wanted from life. And there I was, in a refreshingly empty and at the time, comfortingly slow life.

Eventually, my life became so slow that − you can probably guess − it became predictable. Boring. Wait a minute. This isn’t what I wanted!

Your life close to nature, deep in the northern forests, with its completely self-paced rhythm, sounds ideal from the perspective of slow living. But is that what it is − slow living? Or what is it like? What thoughts does slow living spark in you? Is it even something worth striving for?

I look forward to your letter!

♡ Janina

We’ll continue exchanging letters about slow living—and what the hell it means. The best part is that you’re invited to our conversation, too! Or at least, we think it’s the best part. Might be? Anyway, we’d love to hear your thoughts!