Catch your breath: The Art of Slowing Down

By Lynn Lynn Myat Oo

I used to think I was just stay­ing productive, but looking back, I was really just moving fast for the sake of it.

It’s easy to get caught up in that daily hustle where every min­ute feels like a deadline, and every task feels like an emergency. You don’t even question the speed – you just keep your head down and keep moving.

It wasn’t until a quiet evening at the park that I finally saw how absurd it all was.

I was sprinting down the paved trail, pushing my lungs to their absolute limits. Sweat dripped down my forehead, my heart hammered against my ribs, and my legs felt heavy. Finally ex­hausted, I pulled up near a bench, bent over with my hands on my knees, and gasped for air.

While I was standing there, in a desperate attempt to catch my breath, a young child approached me, looking at me with pure cu­riosity.

“Are you an athlete?” the child asked, tilting their head. “Are you training for a big race, or are you in a competition?”

I blinked, still breathing heavi­ly, and looked down at them. “No,” I managed to say. “I’m not an ath­lete. And there’s no race.”

The child nodded innocently and wandered off to play, complete­ly unaware of the mental lightning bolt they had just delivered. As I stood there alone in the fading evening light, the child’s question echoed in my mind. If I am not an athlete, and if there is no race... why on earth was I running so hard?

That simple question shat­tered a subtle illusion I had carried for years. It wasn’t just about my evening jog; it was a mirror reflect­ing how I was living my entire life. I had been sprinting through my days, hurrying through tasks, con­stantly checking off boxes, stress­ing over the next horizon, as if an invisible referee were holding a stopwatch over my head.

Why do we rush through life when there is no finish line waiting for us?

We hurry to answer emails, rush to finish meals, and scram­ble towards goals simply out of habit. We treat existence like a competitive sport, forgetting that life isn’t a 100-metre dash – it’s a walk through a garden. When you sprint through a garden, you don’t reach the end any richer; you just miss the flowers.

Slowing down isn’t about la­ziness or giving up on ambition. It is an intentional choice to actually inhabit your own life. It means tak­ing the time to taste your meal, to listen fully when someone speaks, and to let your lungs fill with air without feeling like you need to earn your next breath.

Now, I try to catch myself when the old habit creeps back in. I notice it when I’m practically sprinting on my morning commute to work, dodging people on the sidewalk for no real reason. I no­tice it when I’m having my lunch, barely tasting the food because my mind is already three tasks ahead.

I feel it most when I’m stand­ing at the bus stop, heart pounding with impatience, wishing the bus would hurry up. But deep down, I know my anxious heart won’t make the bus arrive a single sec­ond faster. All the stressing in the world won’t change the schedule.

All we can actually do is wait.

So now, when I catch myself rushing for no reason, I take a breath and remind myself: Slow down. Stop running races that don’t exist. Learn to wait for the bus, wait for your timing, and wait for the moment that is truly yours to shine.

The next time you find your­self rushing frantically through your day, stop and ask yourself the child’s question: What race am I actually running? If the answer is “none,” take a deep breath, ease your posture, and slow your pace. There is no medal for finishing life first.”