Our culture values speed. What is gained in going slow?
By Anchel Krishna
As we enter this last week of summer before school starts, I have been thinking a lot about the pace of our life. Almost everything takes our family longer. Yet there are moments when we need to move more quickly than feels natural for us. It is an odd balance. At times we crawl, and at other times we sprint.
Take ice cream, for example.
Something as simple as going out for a cone takes us two or three times longer than it might for other families. Our family of four includes two parents and two kids who are eight and 15. Our teen requires full assistance to get ready. That can mean an hour or more of changing, helping her to the washroom, and getting her settled in her wheelchair. Walking means moving slowly. Driving means strapping her chair securely into an accessible minivan, which adds even more time.
Once we arrive at the ice cream shop, there is another kind of time pressure. Our daughter has certain patterns that are hard to move her through. She often insists others order or eat first. That either means her ice cream sits and melts, or we line up twice so she can be fed after the rest of us.
Sometimes she wants to do all the ordering for our family, which I love. It is her way of taking part, of having her voice heard and understood in a world that often makes assumptions about her. But it also means more waiting. If we do manage to order together, either our daughter or the person feeding her ends up with a puddle of ice cream.
At this point, you might think I am obsessed with ice cream! But the same principle applies to almost everything. Going out for a meal, running an errand, or simply getting ready for the day all require extra layers of planning, energy, and patience. Life with her means a pace that is slower, less predictable, and often more demanding both physically and mentally.
We need to backchain our time in ways that may not be familiar to others. To get somewhere for a 2 p.m. appointment, for example, I might begin the process at 11 a.m. It takes extra brain space, extra thinking, and 100 small decisions. And that decision fatigue we hear so much about? It is very much a part of our world.
This has been our reality for nearly 15 years. My natural pace is to move quickly, get things done, and then move on to the next task. Parenting our daughter has pulled me into a pace that is far different from what I would ever have chosen. And while there are many challenges in that shift, there are also unexpected gifts.
Slowing down has forced me to grow, even when it feels uncomfortable. It has taught me to pause when the struggle feels too much. And sometimes those pauses, the different path or the longer timeline, bring clarity. They reset my nervous system. They allow me to respond instead of react. They help me notice what I might otherwise miss. That is growth. That is perspective.
About a year ago, I was in conversation with an Indigenous knowledge keeper who shared a perspective that has stayed with me. They told me that when things do not go according to plan, it can be the Creator’s way of looking out for us, protecting us and making space for what truly belongs in our lives. That way of thinking has stayed with me. Nothing about our life has followed a typical plan, from the big things to the small.
We did not anticipate our daughter’s disability, or that we would build our lives around her unique needs. We did not expect to be the family that shows up late, that takes three times as long to get out the door, or twice as long to eat a meal.
But in slowing down, we have also built a life of shared purpose and meaning. We spend more time together. On occasion we have those rare, lingering meals at the kitchen table where we listen, respond, and laugh with one another without the pressure of timelines. It is during those moments that joy appears. Not fleeting happiness, but real joy, the kind that comes with connection, contentment and belonging. Slowing down makes space for that kind of joy to grow.
I sometimes think about whether each of us has a natural pace. The speed at which we move through the world, through our tasks, even through leisure activities. Mine has always been quick. I like efficiency. I like crossing things off a list. I like the sense of completion. Our daughter has taught me that life does not need to run at that speed to be meaningful.
A recent day brought this lesson home. We were gifted two tickets to the National Bank Open. My husband and our eight-year-old set off together for a full day at the event, while our 15-year-old and I planned a quiet day at home. We had no agenda, but we both wanted it to be low-key. Over the course of six hours we ate lunch, made a card for her sister, requiring nearly an hour of hand-over-hand work from both of us, took some downtime and ended by baking banana muffins.
The day was slow. It was not efficient or packed with activities. My natural pace would not have chosen it. But it was meaningful. It gave us time together without rushing to the next thing. It gave me a glimpse into what life feels like when I let go of urgency and simply move at the speed that is required.
We often say that raising our daughters has taught us how to adapt. That is true. But I think it has also taught us how to make space. Space for each other. Space for conversation. Space for joy. And space for the possibility that life, even when it does not look the way we imagined, can be full of gifts.
My hope, as we enter the next school year, is that we can continue to notice those gifts. That we can remember that while life may move more slowly for us, it is no less rich. That our family’s unique pace gives us the chance to connect in ways that might not have been possible otherwise.
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