Choosing Less, Choosing Better (and Choosing Slowly)

Dear reader,

I read Johann Hari's book Stolen Focus over the holidays, and it made me think about how we live our lives today. I think we all recognise how our screen time affects us and the younger generation negatively, and that is an important discussion to have. But today I want to reflect on something else.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about how tired I am of being overwhelmed with stuff and the constant message that we need new stuff the all the time. We are scrolling, comparing, bookmarking, abandoning carts, and starting all over again. So many options, all the time. So many voices telling us what we should want, need, upgrade, replace. And somewhere in the middle of all that noise, I felt myself longing for something smaller. Quieter. Slower. Choosing less has become a kind of relief.

It doesn’t mean never choosing at all, or living without beauty or pleasure. Quite the opposite. It means choosing fewer things, but with more care. Letting purchases take time. Allowing desire to mature, soften, or sometimes disappear altogether. Waiting long enough to see if something still feels right once the initial spark has faded. I also recognise that I'm writing this from the place of privilege: by having the option to choose less.

When given the time and opportunity, there is something deeply grounding in choosing better. In asking gentle questions before bringing something new into your life:

Will I use this?

Will I care for it?

Does it fit the life I actually live, not the one I imagine on particularly aesthetic days?

Often, the answer reveals itself only after a pause.

And choosing slowly, this might be the most radical part. To not rush. To let seasons pass. To realise that urgency is often manufactured, and that most things can wait. I’ve noticed how much calmer my mind feels when I give myself permission to delay. The decision doesn’t disappear; it simply becomes clearer.

There is also a quiet sustainability in this way of living. Fewer impulse buys. Fewer regrets. More appreciation for what is already here. When I stop constantly adding, I start noticing—textures worn soft with time, objects that have earned their place, routines that don’t require anything new to be meaningful.

Choosing less has created space.

Choosing better has created trust.

Choosing slowly has created peace.

Perhaps this is an invitation to do the same. To rest in not knowing right away. To let decisions unfold in their own time. To remember that waiting is not a failure to act, but a way of caring.

For yourself, and for the world you move through.