Sunday Edition: Things I’m Choosing Instead of Urgency

Softness as a way of being

What I’m Choosing Instead of Urgency

For most of my life, urgency felt like my first language.

I didn’t set out to learn it—it was just everywhere. Woven into school deadlines, social expectations, and the ever-present hum of “what’s next?” beneath every decision. Move fast. Reply quick. Keep going. The question was never why only how soon?

And for a while, that rhythm worked.

Until it didn’t.

Until the burnout crept in slowly and the “next thing” stopped feeling exciting and started feeling… hollow. Until I realized I’d built a life that ran on fast answers and frantic energy, but I couldn’t remember the last time I felt in it. Present. Awake.

So I started choosing something different.

Not because I read the right book or perfected a morning routine. Honestly, I was just tired. Tired of sprinting toward a finish line I couldn’t see. Tired of proving. Tired of rushing.

And in that tiredness, I tried something wild: slowing down.

Not all at once. Just in small, quiet ways. Letting texts sit. Walking without counting steps. Saying “I don’t know yet” and meaning it.

And slowly, things began to shift.

Lately, here’s what I’m choosing instead of urgency.

• Conversations with no agenda. The kind where you wander through half-finished thoughts and weird tangents. Urgency wants a point. Presence is the point.

• Walks without a destination. Not to hit a step count—just to see what the light looks like today.

• Hobbies I’m bad at. Messy crafts. Unrhymed poems. Projects no one will ever see. Not everything needs a purpose beyond joy.

• Answers that take time. Sometimes “I don’t know yet” is the most honest, grounded thing I can say.

• Friendships with breathing room. The kind that don’t require constant updates or proof of loyalty. Just trust. Just return.

• Books that ask more than they answer. Slow, dense, chewy reads that remind me how to pay attention.

• Mornings that begin gently. Not with a to-do list, but with soft light on the walls, warm coffee, and the quiet reminder: there’s time.

• Softness when I forget all of this. Because I do forget. But I’m learning to come back to myself with grace instead of guilt.

Urgency still tries to sneak in. It tells me I’m behind. That slower means lesser. That I’ll miss something if I don’t hustle. But I’m trying to believe something else: that not every feeling needs to be fixed. That meaningful doesn’t have to mean loud. That peace is worth protecting.

And on the good days, when I remember to pause, to breathe, to be…

…it doesn’t just feel like rest.
It feels like freedom.

Your Turn

Are you feeling the tug toward slower living too? I’d love to hear what you’re choosing instead of urgency lately. Leave a comment, I’m all ears.

The Second Act is an entirely reader-supported publication. Click here to subscribe or gift a friend a subscription here (if a friend sent you this —tell them thanks!). Anything you want covered? Questions? Reply with a comment below! You can also find me on Instagram. Please come say hi!