Rousseau, the French philosopher, once wrote apologetically to a friend that had he had more time, he would have written less.  By which he meant that writing more words, more thoughts or ideas was not a sign of clarity or insight and that conveying the essence of one’s meaning takes time and is effortful.  

But what if this principle doesn’t stop at writing? What if the same holds true for life?

Today, we are surrounded by the cult of more. More money. More success. More friends. More stimulation. Even more happiness. Yet none of these — at least not on their own — guarantee meaning. Meaning, like clarity in writing, is not something you stumble upon while rushing. It’s uncovered slowly, patiently, often painfully.

Rousseau did however have a distinct advantage ( aside from his general brilliance ) in that he lived before the age of engineered distraction, before push notifications and infinite scrolling.  We, however, do. With so much to distract us, we rarely pause and ask ourselves what makes good living? What brings us joy and satisfaction? How do the people around us shape our inner lives and how do we shape theirs?

These questions do not have easy answers but it is the inquiry itself that is worthwhile.  And this inquiry is not one to be answered by chatGPT, it demands the slowness of living organisms rather than the efficiency of machines.  By slowness, I don’t mean living in some zen-like meditative space but slow enough to recognise the moment-by-moment choices we make about how and where we place our attention.  Because it is in these small choices that we draw the arc of our life.

If we are lucky, holidays can offer us a glimpse of this slowness, a soft reminder that meaning doesn’t shout, it whispers.  If you haven’t felt that slowness, look for it.  Take the time, reach for the effort. 

Written by Marie-Anne Chidiac